Blood's Anchor
by Ready-made Prodigy
Summary: Tragedy has struck and now Thomas must work through grief, betrayal, deception, and old friendships to find Harry’s killer, unknowingly getting closer to brother than he could possibly imagine.
1. How this story starts

**Title** Blood's Anchor

**Summary:** Tragedy has struck and Thomas is left to uphold his brother's mantle of heroism in the face of the worst possible dangers. Now Thomas must work through grief, betrayal, deception, and old friendships to find Harry's killer, unknowingly getting more close to his brother than he could ever fathom.

**Rating:** PG-13, some violence, some sexual reference, some language

Timeframe: After Proven Guilty, before White Night, but minus Molly (though she may make an appearance)

**Book/TV verse:** Splicing of both, references to both. I use pretty clear distinctions between the two though other than I use TV-verse apartment/office. The rest will be addressed throughout the story.

**Spoilers:** The books, except for WN, and just a feel for what the TV episodes are like

**A/N:** I love Dresden Files and I try to be as true as I can. Voice is a little hard, especially when using a secondary character that's pretty mysterious. Jim Butcher's style is also a little hard to replicate, but I'll try and work hard. I hope you enjoy. REVIEW DAMMIT!

**-o-O-o-**

The dingy little apartment was close to one million degrees. There was nothing but suffocating, sticky, sweaty heat and overwhelming, mind-blowing pleasure. I trailed kisses down her swan like neck, feeling her shudder under the feather light touch of my lips against her shining translucent skin. Her name is Meredith, the name currently flowing from my lips as I moved against her and the name I would cry out once we reach completion. She works as a manager at the big shopping mall across town. She loves her job, loves having power and influence. She's very organized. She even arranges her groceries by size, shape, and food type. Her fondest memory is of going to Disneyland with her father when she was eight years old. Her parents went through a hard divorce and her mom had never quite been the same. Her small two bedroom house is about two blocks down from mine. She's decided to start running past here before work.

That's how she ended up here…literally. I was getting mail and now here we are. The only reason I know any of this stuff about her is because I'm feeding off of her life force right now. Yes people, that's right. I'm stealing bits of her life energy, including memories and perceptions, by having sex with her. Pretty sweet, huh? Don't worry though, I won't harm her. She's enjoying it just as much as me. She can't resist in fact.

If you haven't guessed already, I'm not quite human. My name is Thomas Raith. I am a part of the White Court of Vampires, belonging to the ruling House of Raith…or did, anyways. I was kicked out recently. Nasty business about my father killing off all of his previous sons and even if he was currently a puppet ruler enslaved to my sister, my mug was just not pretty enough to keep in the family. So anyway, with my type of vampire, our Hunger comes from, not blood, but the life energies that drive the mortal race. We're also highly addictive. Red Court has the whole spit thing, whatever. I suppose I'm prejudiced, but I think White Court's methods are more sophisticated and less…gross. Of all the Courts, White is the most human. In fact, in our earlier stages we have the ability to become mortal too. Yeah, that didn't exactly happen with me. So here I am screwing a total stranger blind like it's a natural part of life, which, as I have just explained, it is.

The pace was quickening. I can feel her. All of her. I feel alive through her. It feels good. She really likes her new boyfriend and hopes he will be the one. Favorite color--No, I need to finish up fast. I'm feeding too far. Strongest impressions are the easiest to withdraw, it's the little things close to the heart that are hard to extract. I won't do that to her though. See, what did I tell you? I'm as human as vampires go. At least, that's what my brother says. I can feel the climax building and I am so close. Nearly there. At the height of emotion, I'm practically breathing in her energies.

The phone rings from my pitiful excuse for a kitchen, prominently trumpeting through the lust filled haze. I howl in frustration as the moment is broken. I quit feeding, but my physical needs are still screaming to be fulfilled. The phone rings again and again and again and holy crap JESUS MUST HATE ME.

"_Thomas? Yo, Thomas!"_

Speak of the devil. Well, wizard technically.

"_Hey bimbo! Get your ass off my man. That's right bitch, Tommy boy bats for both fences and I can tell you long dirty stories to prove which one he prefers."_

Brothers suck. I collapsed to the side of Meredith, allowing her the courtesy of a hasty retreat for the door, pulling on jogging clothes as she went. She gave a flushed faced good-bye and left. Annoyed and thoroughly unsatisfied, I considered not answering the phone, but anger won out and I decided to tell that scourge of a little brother off. I lumbered into the kitchen and put the phone to my ear.

"Harry, you don't have enough dirty stories to fill a teacup, much less for gay sex."

I can almost see his shrug. _"I've had sex with a tied up half-vampire."_

"Great, well I'm prettier than you are by far."

"_Sure, in that Legolas elf kind of way."_

"Uh huh, what do you want?"

"_Help," _his voice lost the easy tone and all trace of humor it held previously, _"I have this case--"_

I cut him off. "Look, you were the one relieved I moved out. I know we're family now, but we're adults too and I have my own life to lead," knowing my brother's armor through and through I put the right amount of weariness and remorse, making the excuse sound less like the lie it was, "Harry, I've managed to stay with this new gig for over a week and a half."

As expected, my brother caved. See the thing about his armor is that it's about as strong as frosting.

I could hear the trace of a sigh that he tried to suppress. _"Alright Thomas."_

Score! Turning my gleeful relief into well placed guilt, I offered my services on Friday.

"_Can't wait that long,"_ he grumbled, _"You're a working man now Thomas. You know how it is."_

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I don't take time to mosey around," I answered, hoping to somehow purvey my handsome toothy leer through the phone.

It apparently did because my brother sighed long-sufferingly. _"Hell's bells, to think my mother is responsible for unleashing you upon the populace."_

I chuckled and said my goodbyes, telling him about some anecdote about groceries and promptly hung up before he could say something that could really make me guilty. Next order of business, Katie from down the street.

**-O-**

I didn't make my way over to his place until well after midnight on Friday(Saturday), but knowing my brother he'd be wearing that ridiculous bathrobe and doing some voodoo or another. Besides, I've brought pizza and beer. He can't complain. Balancing pizza and beer in one arm, I fished around my pocket for my 'house key'. It was carved from what I suspected was bone in the shape of a fleshless fish, its bones bare and eye sunken. It hung on black cord that was tied in a reinforced braid with littler pieces of bone carved into smiley Goldfish cracker shapes woven in and a convenient little loop to hook it onto my keys or belt loop. It was one of Harry's best works, even if it was just a talisman to bypass his wards. He gave it to me as a present for my birthday when I was first living with him.

It was a touching gesture, but at the moment a monumental pain. Stupid designer jeans, made so tight I can barely shove a hand in my pocket. The beer began to slip off from its precarious position on top of the pizza box and I pitched forward slightly to keep it atop its perch, using the door as leverage to stop the pizza box from flipping because of the sudden weight unbalance. I barely had the creaking of the door as warning before it began to push forward. Whipping my hand out of my pocket trap, I managed to save the beers, but my primary concern had shifted quickly to the open door.

Harry once told me, _'A wizard's door is always locked unless a door to a wizard has been forced open.'_

A thrill of fear shot up my spine as I pushed inside, dropping my load by the door.

"Harry?" I called hesitantly.

None of his customary candles were lit and the room was dark with enough cliché eeriness to make a movie, but Harry had always been right about his life movie being on a cheap budget because the blood spread periodically around the floor, furniture, and walls didn't look great at all. It looked disgusting and horrible and made my insides twist and burst.

Following the trails of dried blood and faint tang of its metallic scent, I started screaming my brother's name at the top of my lungs. At the moment I didn't give a shit if all was fine and dandy and my brother would never let me live it down. At this exact moment I would rather have smug Harry, than dead Harry.

A bloody handprint was smeared across the handle of the trap door, its customary rug it was hidden under flung unceremoniously into the corner. I slipped in and had all my hopes dashed away in a single instant. No okay Harry, no dead one, but certainly a dying Harry.

He lay in the middle of the room, sprawled awkwardly as if he had been in the process of curling up, but his muscles had failed him midway through. His face lay in a puddle of his own blood, his hair matted with perspiration. He wore no shirt underneath his duster, revealing a torso molted by bruises. His hands were covered in what appeared to be dirt, but was actually hundreds of little scratches clumped together. He lay in the middle five candles, which I knew, if connected, would cross to form a pentacle. Only one, the closest to his head, remained lit.

"Dammit Harry," I muttered, crouching down beside him and scooping him up into my arms.

His eyes fluttered open and although turned toward me were unfocused and glazed. I felt the sobs begin to build in my chest and the tears springing to my eyes. In the last moments of his life, my brother did not seem to recognize me. I held him tight, desperate to feel what little life he still had in him. I could feel each shallow breath threading through his chest. No beautiful last words, no peace within his eyes, no last touch of comfort before he died. Just a body that lost its fight, a soul unable to remain, a mass of failing organs. An ending.

He drew one last shuddering breath before his chest stilled, eyes losing the last of their light. The candle burned low and then blew out, allowing the painful sensation of loss to engulf me. I wept long and hard, whispering broken apologies and unintelligible words of grief and sorrow. I had lost him after all those years of knowing, of standing aside, satisfied in quietly protecting him, feeling like the honorable man for not adding that complication to his life. Really, I was scared. Scared of what that could mean for me. Shouldering another life on my conscience, having to be responsible for him, not on the odd occasion our paths crossed, but all the time. When it came down to it, I still wasn't ready to take on that responsibility and he had gotten killed for it.

That's who I am. I look out for number one and even though we're brothers that was not the kind of person Harry was. When I had first told Harry I knew he had a problem with it, but not the one I thought it would be. His mother's escapades were nothing compared to the worry of having someone that he could lose and _never_ be able to get back. All his other friends…he knew they'd be gone someday, his wizard's blood assured that, but we were family. We shared blood. He didn't try distancing himself from me, quite the opposite. He invested all that he could spare into getting to know me and forming a bond between the two of us. He felt that the tighter you hold on, the more you'll have left when a person leaves. Maybe it was just because he's lost so many people in his life, but he was still brave for doing that and Harry had effectively found a way into my heart. Accordingly, when I picked up the phone it was Murphy's number I dialed.

"_Hello,"_ she answered sleepily.

I'm so grateful she answers that I don't even stop to think about what next tumbles out of my mouth.

"My brother's dead."

"_Who--Thomas? What are you--" _

"He's dead, Harry's dead."

_Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead…_

There was a pause and then, voice gruff with emotion she said, _"I'll be there in a minute. I'm so sorry Thomas." _

I knew she meant it. It was why I called her rather than anyone else, why when I picked up the phone it wasn't the police or a Warden's number that I dialed. It was because Murphy could understand the depth of the loss the world had just experienced. It was because Murphy cared.

**-O-**

I barely managed my way out of the trap door when I heard Murphy slip through the front door, a slight tingle sounding as her coat brushed past the bell chime. We didn't exchange a greeting or say anything else to each other. I merely stepped aside as she descended the steps to the lab.

Murphy's a strong person. Harry always joked she was his guardian angel. I left for the couch to give her some privacy as I heard her soft voice coming through the opening, saying the things she was unable to say when he was alive. Maybe she told him she loved him. I always thought there was something more between the two of them or at least the foundations for it. I always found that with love comes trust, not the other way around. I bet they would have been happy together. Guess she'll never know.

When she came up her eyes were clear, though she left the tear streaks shining upon her pale cheek. No shame. No façade that she was fine. It would be an insult to Harry's memory. You're supposed to be sad when good people die.

"Do you know who did it?" she questioned, determination momentarily replacing grief.

I didn't really think before answering.

"I did."

She stiffened, a hand rising to her belt.

"He asked for my help on a case and I told him I had better things to do. A few throw away women were more important than the son of my mother, the one who fought the most powerful of the White Court for my safety. I put myself before my brother and I killed him."

"Stand up Thomas," she commanded, cutting through my self-condemnation.

I wanted to ignore her, antagonize her. If she wanted hit me, I'd let her.

"Stand up!" she repeated, firmly this time.

I obeyed reluctantly. Maybe she'd shoot me, it wouldn't be more than I deserved. I sighed as she approached, shivering involuntarily. I imagined her aikido kicking my back to pieces and breaking my arm at the same time and shooting me in the gut as I fell. I imagined her calling the Wardens on me or revealing herself to be some practitioner as well and burning me to cinders.

Instead she drew closer and wrapped her arms around me, her head hardly reaching to the base of my neck. Surprised at the sudden contact my immediate reaction was to pull away, but she held on tighter. After a few seconds I stopped and I felt more than the crushing weight of death. The hug felt warm. Another living person had reached out to me, proving to me I was alive too. It was nice.

"Thomas, Harry loved you and cared about you with all his heart and knew full well that you did too," she said quietly, her voice rumbling softly against my chest, "You did not kill your brother Thomas."

"He didn't even say goodbye to me," I forgot to feel childish for saying it, "Didn't even know I was there. He practically died alone."

"But he wasn't."

Despite myself, I smiled. "Thank you."

Very reluctantly I brought up my arms and returned the hug, glad to return the comfort.

"Touch my ass and you won't be able to feel yours."

As I said, Murphy is one tough cookie.

And a really good friend even if that friend isn't around to return the favor.

She stepped back and met my gaze with unwavering intensity. "Thomas, you may not have killed him, but it is sure as hell your fault Harry's dead. Nothing will change the fact that if you had been there, Harry would probably be sitting with us alive, maybe not well, but he'd be here and not a cold corpse downstairs. You know as well as I that he'd only ask for help if he really needed it."

She paused as if she expected I'd protest, I didn't. She nodded, satisfied somehow and suddenly produced a black nylon bag I had seen twice before and held it out to me before I took it. The weight and shape definitely familiar and definitely not in the good way.

"What you do now is find who did this and destroy him because you know if Harry was involved its going to be some kind of apocalyptic jerk off somewhere behind the scenes, ready to eat children or something equally terrible. You're going to do this and not blow your brains out in a fit of suicidal rage and you are not going to let anyone else do it because that would be way too easy. You need to fix this."

A spark of anger lit somewhere in the dimness. "You can't fix death Murphy."

"No," she glared, "but you salvage what you can. Come on, we need to do some clean up."

Over the next few hours we did our best to keep the supernatural aspects of Harry's death away from mortal eyes. After all, with Harry gone, no one would be able to investigate it anyways. They wiped down the blood leading to the trap door, replaced the stained rug with an extra from the closet, burned the other one and trashed the untouched pizza I had brought. The beers did not go forgotten however and the empty bottles were soon disposed of. The last thing we did was relocate Harry's body back toward his beloved couch, redisplaying his body like a typical murder model.

It was nearly dawn when we finished. I leaned against the ice box as I gulped down the last of the beer, while Murphy sat at the table, tapping her fingers against the glass.

"You leave any evidence from when you first got here that we may have missed?" she asked, the question clinical, concern overridden by my position as a potential suspect. Hey, I'm one of the best liars around and Lieutenant Murphy was not about to forget it.

I shook my head. "Nothing police can detect. Us Whites pay googoo bucks to make sure we're untraceable through mortal channels, especially when we leave our bodily fluids on our victims," I answered, but scowled accusingly at the nylon bag on the tabletop, "but I will definitely have some serious Warden problems if I take Bob."

She snorted, expression reading somewhere between humor and incredulous.

"The skull has a name?"

"Yeah, the _magic_ skull has a name and as such let's get back to the wizards soon to be on my ass."

Bob the skull, air spirit of knowledge and wizard's aid. I had seen Harry employ Bob's many talents before, including directing us through Nevernever and had even worked with him myself to decipher some code some time before when zombies invaded Chicago. I had also recommended him some really good porn magazines. Bob contained several centuries of knowledge, without the restrictions of moral obligations and as such, classified as a highly dangerous magical object, hence my dilemma. Me not magic, Bob is magic, Wardens do magic, therefore there would undoubtedly be some kind of fail safe to find him.

Murphy shrugged. "Don't know, don't care, not my problem, but remember to keep me updated. I'll call you once Butters gets the autopsy and…once the funeral's arranged. Michael will probably do it. I don't think it will be big, so money won't be an issue and Harry's already got his grave taken care of."

I nodded. "I'll be there."

Damn the consequences. So what if the vampires and White Council were at war. Fuck it, I'm going to go to my brother's funeral and tell embarrassing stories. Everyone else can bite my attractive ass.

I shouldered the back pack and made my way toward the door, weak sunshine starting to shimmered through the windows. I looked back once more and flashed Murphy the best smile I could muster.

"Thanks again Murphy."

"Don't be a stranger Thomas."

"I won't be…especially if there might be some great comfort sex in the near future."

"Get out."

I did and made sure to avoid a few early risers before heading to my car. I'd need a head start. Wardens were the least of my problems and even then they could very likely be the death of me. What I was really worried about was that whatever killed my brother would be after me soon. I knew it because one of the first things I had noticed about my brother's body was that it was missing a key personal affect: his mother's pentacle necklace. That necklace linked a bond forged by our mother between the two of us, connected by our inherited silver pentacles, one of which hung directly over my heart and had been for the past several days. Ample time to tap through the connection. Oops.

I had now entered into an ever growing mystery, neck deep in trouble. As I drove away, I realized I had unwittingly taken my brother's place. I finally understood what it was like to live his life.

It sucked. It really, really blowed.

Here's to you little brother.


	2. Door number one

**A/N: Alright, this chapter was a tough one. This story originally had no plot apart from Harry dying and Thomas being sad, so when I finally decided to make it something more…some of the plot details were a bit fuzzy. This chapter's a little choppy, but I did my best, so please enjoy.**

**Reviewer Responses:**

**bluedragon1836: Yes, Harry's death is hard to believe. Perhaps a little too hard? Hmmm…Stick around, you might be surprised.**

**Thomas' Sword: Thank you so much for you reviews. It made me a lot less depressed that I only have two. Most of the fanfic writers only watch the show or have it centered on stupid weird relationships. I love Thomas' character and Butcher has recently kind of lost face with Thomas' emotions, so I was like hazah, opportunity. I'm flattered that you consider me your favorite DF author and I take your criticism with good grace. You made a good point. I didn't really consider that. Please continue to read and give me nice reviews. **

**-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-**

Against better judgment that didn't belong to me, I was all for going home and crashing, I decided to head to the flat for a few hours to gather supplies before shifting to a safe house I had set up down town. I'd also have to make sure all my contacts were reachable and brought up to speed on the situation. Bob would know all of Harry's current contacts as well as friends or allies I could possibly touch base with who would be willing to help take down Harry's killer.

Sitting on my squishy La-Z-Boy I plunked Bob's skull on a pile of magazines sitting on the coffee table. I didn't really know what to do. Summoning Bob might have very adverse affects on my immediate health. Until I can figure out a solution, I plan to ignore it. Makes less of a problem. Something will probably turn up anyway.

I figured I'd assemble my home arsenal for travel, bringing out my trusty black duffle. I packed my Raith family cavalry sword, M16 5.5mm semi-automatic assault rifle, disassembled .50 caliber sleek sniper AS50, and modified Russian Pernach double action automatic pistol along with cleaning kit and spare ammo. It's a god awful amount to be lugging around, but I'll be carrying my Beretta automatic on me, so at least I won't be defenseless. My vampire enhanced strength and stamina should take care of the rest. My supernatural home kit is pretty lacking, just an emergency pack full of iron nails and wood stakes and a medium sized super soaker filled with holy water. I have a full med pack in the car.

Already at two thirds of the way full I only had enough room for an extra pair of pants, two shirts, my kick ass ninja sneaking outfit, and some carefully wrapped formal wear for the funeral. Done with that, I barely mustered enough strength to kick off my shoes and fall into my bed before giving into the encompassing exhaustion I had been ignoring. Mercifully, I slept deeply and dreamless, undisturbed as the sun fully rose and Lieutenant Karrin Murphy and her partner walked in to her 8:00 morning appointment with SI's supernatural consultant, Harry Dresden.

He was found dead, body indicating he had died at least five hours before. Police found very little evidence of a suspect and the autopsy was passed to Waldo Butters, a personal friend and occasional work colleague to the private investigator.

The News crews had rolled in around 8:22 where the death of Chicago's sole practicing wizard was broadcasted, his interviews on _The Larry Fowler Show_ aired and through the miracle of mass media, world networking, and hackers a copy of Harry's fight with the loup garou was unearthed, making its way back onto television screens and online vids everywhere.

The Wardens moved in precisely at 10:00 once all the commotion died down. Morgan lead the purge of magical objects from Dresden's home and continuing the secrecy of the occult community. Senior Council Member McCoy conducted the investigations and retrieval of the body of the deceased White Council member. A stone faced Ebenezer just dared Morgan to make a celebratory comment. Morgan wisely didn't.

Murphy made sure to call the Carpenters before they were forced to see it on the rampant news reports. Molly was beside herself, now finding herself an apprentice orphan and facing the Doom of Damocles alone. Most likely she'd be sent to some form of Hogwarts version of juvi with no Harry to defend her. Michael had agreed to oversee the services, voice laden with emotion. Little Harry seemed subdued.

A day full and empty at the same time.

**-O- **

I got out of bed to answer the phone around noon, feeling a lot better. My thoughts a little less scrambled and the initial shock and pain beginning to wear off. I sat cross legged on my bed and leaned over to retrieve the phone from my bedside table.

"Murphy?"

If it wasn't I was probably just going to hang up.

"_Thomas, Harry's body is missing from the morgue."_

My heart froze for a second.

"_Whoever did it left an old fashioned scroll with a pentacle printed in gold. You think it's the work of the killer?" _she asked fiercely.

A few of the cords crushing my chest loosened.

"No," I replied calmly, "Wizards take care of their own. Did Butters get his autopsy?"

"_Yeah, it's not pretty. Four broken ribs, hairline fracture on the back of his skull, which cause some vascular swelling in his brain. One of the ribs had been pierced a lungs. Extensive kidney damage. Signs of internal bleeding. Lots of bruising. Butters concludes a pretty nasty beating, but he said that Harry would have been able to manage to work through it for several hours before his body gave up on him, which is probably how he got back home himself, explaining the lack of evidence," _she sighed tiredly, _"How are things on your side?"_

"I'll be changing location soon. I'll contact you from there." My answer is clipped and dry, hopefully diverting her from asking anything else, such as my lack in solution on how to deal with the Bob situation.

"_Fine," _she sounded displeased, _"Funeral will be in a few days, six at the most. You know how hard it will be to round up all of Dresden's acquaintances."_

"Sure. Thanks again. You should get some sleep Murph."

"_Don't call me that," _she snapped.

"Why?"

"_Only he got to call me that."_

She hung up. She was hurting too.

Making my way back to the living room I crouched down in front of the motionless skull, staring in the eyeless sockets. I tapped on it curiously, listening to the sound of hollow ceramic clicking. My finger didn't leave a smudge on the bare white bone. I wonder if Harry ever had to clean it. You would think that these magic things would do that sort of stuff on its own. Maybe that secret cleaning lady Harry had did it. It did seem exceptionally clean.

"What I am supposed to do now?" I asked idly, half wishing someone was there to answer.

"You need only to command the spirit awake to summon it," a feminine voice informed me.

In a feat of inhuman grace I turned my surprised jerk into a nimble half turn to face the woman who had apparated into my flat. This is why I only half-wished someone to answer me because, although stunningly beautiful, the woman was so in a way that all signs pointed to Fae. Well…maybe the crown of delicate white flowers and necklace made out of a moving stream of water was a dead giveaway. Shut up, I just woke up.

I bowed, flourishing my hand in a charming gesture, after all, it wasn't all too surprising women simply appeared into my apartment flat.

"M'lady."

I even turned on a little of my White Court enticement. Faeries were normally a very nasty business and constrained to a lot of old customs and formalities, but very powerful. Without proper summoning, a Fae couldn't even be in the mortal realm, apart from the two Ladies of the Courts and their knights, but this women was definitely neither.

She didn't even bat an eyelash. "Thomas Raith, I presume."

"And obviously _not _my next lay," I answered flippantly.

"No, though you are a worthy specimen, if of course you weren't an abomination to life," she replied smoothly, her voice betraying no emotion, "I am Titania, Queen of the Summer Court."

My eye gave a noncommittal twitch. Wow. A compliment and an insult from one of the most powerful being of all Faerie. I'm so great. The insult wasn't even so bad. I mean, Summer Court's all about life and I continue to live through other people's life force. I waited for her to elaborate further. She stood in silence. Maybe she was shy? I do that sometimes.

I extended my hands, palm up, a natural sign of non-aggression. "It's okay, take your time," I encouraged.

She blinked. Oh…right, faerie etiquette. Only answering to questions or requests, Fae will then present their offering and name their price. The Fae were ancient, untouched by time or anything mortal. As their customs were old, I could only assume they responded to older speak.

"What are thine intentions of coming…thith--hither to uh, converse avec moi, Titania."

Old speak not my strong point.

"Thomas Raith, je suis ici expiquer les services que to es répartissez comme désigné

ton frérè dans l'événement de la mort."

It was my turn to blink. Okay, my French also not so good. Fake French accent, I could do. You just gotta make it sound pretty.

She looked annoyed. "Il est necèssaire que tu demandes le correct question pour moi repondre."

Correct question? Thank god for cognates.

"Um, what the hell?"

See, nice clean and precise.

"I'll take that as a wish for further elaboration. First, young Raith, it is necessary for you to ask the correct questions for me to answer adequately as my services to you are limited."

"Oh, it's kinda like on _I, Robot_, where the hologram couldn't help Will Smith, but why exactly did you pick French?" I asked, exasperatedly. Pcht, women.

"The last two words of your question were spoken as such."

"Wait, so if I spoke in a southern accent you would too?"

"No."

"Oh," I felt a little off balance, but I didn't let it show, "How did I come to receive the services of the Summer Court, much less the Summer Queen? I have made no deals with you or your Fae subjects."

"I come on behalf of Harry Dresden, who was a known friend and esquire of the Summer Court," she responded.

Something inside me, something more than the hurt was anger. Hard, consuming anger. Angry that she wouldn't know. That she said his name like she knew him and didn't even know he was gone.

"He's dead," I spat angrily, "How do I know what your real intentions are?"

"My only purpose here is to carry out the specified arrangements made by Mr. Dresden in the event of his death."

"How do I know you aren't lying?"

"I am bound to service."

"Prove it!" I demanded, "Prove to me that it was Harry who made these deals."

"He was your brother," she answered simply.

The anger dissipated, the sudden rush of fire in my arms and legs disappeared. It left me oddly drained, but my chest still felt warm, my fingertips tingling.

She quirked an eyebrow at my response.

I shook my head. I didn't feel like sharing.

"You're here to carry out his will?"

"Yes, and explain what it entails."

I nod. Though I am not a wizard, I do understand the way things go in the supernatural world. We can unleash some pretty potent stuff when we die. Ghosts, Hellians, and of course, those nasty little wizard Death Curses.

She sat languidly on top the arm of my La-Z-Boy, flicking off perhaps a nonexistent speck of dust on the upholstery.

"To put it simply, Harry left everything he owned to you."

"Great I've inherited an apartment that's going to be watched by cops and Wardens alike, his ghetto-fabulous Beetle, and a crap load of his debts," I said bitterly.

I was not really in the kind of mood to be happy about receiving things my brother held dear while he was alive…except the debts. Not that I wouldn't take of them. I owed him that at least.

"I did not mean just physical things, young one. There are other things a wizard may leave behind."

"What?" I laughed humorlessly, the sound dead and choked, "Did I inherit his magic too?"

"I suppose, in some sense you have. Objects that have close connections with the wizard may have residual power and if someone were to take those things…" she smiled as she trailed off, answer enough for a statement like that, "Hence why your brother chose to utilize my services."

"Indeed," I replied dryly. "Anything else?"

"Among other things, the Temple Dog and the Air Spirit, all of which, apart from the skull, have been delivered to your Eastern safe house. Everything, including those which were magically imbued, have passed fully into your possession. No Warden or even Senior Council member will be able to detect a disturbance with your use of them."

"How did you manage that?" I asked suspiciously.

"The blood you and your brother share can conduct an easily accessible connection."

True ownership. My brother did things right. It makes one wonder just how many things Harry was able to take care of before he met his demise.

"How long ago were these terms made?"

The real question, how long ago did my brother suspect he was going to die.

"Four days, although they were not finalized and put into effect until the day previous," she answered.

Four days ago, Tuesday. I met Meredith on Tuesday, the day he called. Fuck. And finalized yesterday? That could mean any number of possibilities.

"My brother sure was busy before he died," I muttered darkly.

"He did not pass away quickly or easily."

"Really?" I ground out, "And would you be so kind as to tell me how exactly that occurred?"

"I will remind you again that my services are a limited time offer and I coincidently will not answer questions that you might discover on your own," she explained, in my opinion, sounding rather condescending.

It pissed me off. A rage, born of frustration and pain, leapt up to fill the places where my anger had left me. It swelled and burned just below the surface.

"You were there when he died or at least was dying. You could tell me something!"

"That was not a part of our agreement."

"I don't care! I am willing to strike a deal with you for the information. Anything, anything. Give me a name and I might just give you my first born son," I said, my voice steady and not at all hysterical.

"I'm sorry, I can not help you for I was not present to witness the tragedy on which has befallen the wizard. He came to me whole and healthy," she replied remorsefully.

She sounded sincere. I wish she wasn't.

"Thank you for your services," I turned away from her, "Now get out."

There was a whisper of breath, a slight stirring of warm air about the room before she was gone.

I collapsed onto the couch, feeling shaky. The rage, although the immediate feelings were gone, I could still feel it somewhere in the back of my mind, ready and waiting. Tiredly, I turned my attention back to the skull on my coffee table.

Warily, I rapped my knuckles on the smooth frontal bone plate, which would have once protected the frontal lobe from damage. _Whap, tap, tap_

"Bob? Wake up please."

The skull didn't move.

I tried a more commanding tone and using a name I had heard Harry use only once before I said, "Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I summon you."

Nothing.

Rather irked by this I grabbed a nearby magazine and rolled it up tightly before thwacking the skull the way one would smack a disobedient dog.

I raised my voice to almost dramatic levels, "As your new master, I order you to reveal yourself to me!"

Not even an orange flicker appeared in the eyeholes.

I switched tactics.

"Bob," I purred, "I've got porn movies."

"Have you got one of those computer things? One that works?" a cultured British accent drifted from behind me, sounding hopeful, "Molly says it's like an endless porn channel without any commercials."

I am really tired of people answering me by coming up from behind. Whatever happened to friendly hello's? Without missing a beat, I swung my body around, ready to backfist the source of the voice into a neat pile onto the floor.

My brain registered a tall man wearing a tasteful suit, complete with a flower patterned vest, before my fist flew to his distinctly shaped jaw and nose. There was a delighted smirk playing about the elder man's face before my knuckles would have connected, but instead passed through like smoke and catching me unbalanced. Reluctant to turn to my Hunger inducing inner demon, I merely twisted my torso and caught myself on the couch.

The being laughed, crossing his arms over his chest in amusement. "Now really, Thomas. I thought you'd recognize me. We have worked together before."

"Well Bob, you've certainly gone through an extreme make-over," I pointed towards his snow white hair, "Nice touch, looks good on you."

He carded his fingers through it, obviously pleased. "Yes, I thought so. I'm quite happy with the results."

"You should be considering the last time I conversed with you, you were a freakin' talking skull and not a distinctly visible person, dressed nicely, and asking for porn sites!" I exclaimed, sounding only partially hysterical.

"A man's not a man--"

"But you aren't a man," I interrupted sternly. "What happened Bob?"

The amusement dissolved from his face, leaving it sober and darkened.

"Are you referring to me or Harry?"

I opened my mouth, but the answer stuck in my throat.

"Just…just you for now."

He nodded, expression reverting back to one of scholarly passivity, one more reminiscent of the expressionless skull he had previously occupied.

"Everyone in the whole wide world, at least one time in their lives, will give away a part of their soul to someone else. Lovers, parents, friends," he directed his gaze towards me, "brothers. All exchange a proportional amount of soul to each other according to the depth of their relationship. Trusted friends maybe a third, lovers most likely more than half. Sometimes it is possible to distribute your soul to _things_ as well as people. Writers, for instance almost always give up a minimal amount of themselves to their works, their personal efforts and time spent going into every word. It's the reason why books feel alive. Pictures too, taken of people in the right kind of moments, real moments that mean something will also hold a little within them."

"Sounds like what Titania said about objects carrying parts of a wizard's magic," I commented.

"Exactly," Bob replied in delight, "In my case I had both."

"My brother shared some of his soul with you?"

He nodded. "I have known Harry since he was ten years old, since he arrived at the DuMorne estate and began his magical tutelage. I have also perhaps been the most consistent influence he has had in his life."

I didn't doubt that. Our mother died when he was born, his father died when he was young, forced to kill the man who gave him a home, girlfriends who never lasted…no, I don't doubt that in Harry's tattered life that one of the things he held dear was a snarky talking encyclopedia.

"Under his mastery I _changed._ As a spirit I assimilate an attitude compatible to my current owner. Kemmler liked me to look down upon humans, he gave me power. DuMorne only viewed me as a tool, making me boringly efficient, especially at teaching his young apprentice. To Harry though, I was mentor and a friend as well as a colleague, willing sharing a part of his soul with me. Before his death, Harry allowed me tentative access to his remaining energies to create an image for myself."

"So Harry's soul, magic, and personality. I think I can get used to that," I murmured, smiling weakly.

He returned it. "I thought you might."

**-O-**

Okay, so here I am deep within Undertown, following a grimy creature that belonged somewhere in a sewer. Lead number one according to Bob, the Winter Lady whom Harry visited early last Wednesday. My guide had been leading me down a tunnel held up with stained and dirty pillars until it opened up into a huge cavern, entirely encased in ice as clear as glass. The cold stung at my skin, making it prickle. The place was sparsely furnished. Just a throne, a chandelier lit with blue fire and velvet curtain things randomly hanging about the walls. Maeve was skating about, performing delicate maneuvers Olympic gold medalists would kill to do. At my arrival she began to skate in lazy circles around me.

"Baby Raith, I was wondering when you'd drop by," she cooed, eyeing my like a piece of meat. "Do you like the place?"

It was incredible. I mean, getting the ice to freeze that clear was amazing, especially in order to be able to see the faces of the hundreds of bodies encased within the icy floor. Amazing, simply breathtaking.

"I've come for information on the wizard Dresden who met with you a few days ago," I announced, sliding across her improvised skating rink of horror. I peered into the face of a particularly agonized expression of a young Asian student who was convulsively clutching a large Merck Manual in his hands, stethoscope draped around his pallid neck.

"Enemies of yours?" I asked casually, trying to mask my disgust with scornful disdain, "I'm particularly hopeful they weren't friends."

"No, just those who could not live up to my price," she pointed towards the student, "He wanted to be a doctor to save his sister, but wasn't willing to give up his other patients for clinical trial. She died, he failed, and I punished him."

My gaze swept about Maeve's throne, taking in the naked bodies of women of unprecedented beauty. Their bodies, although incased within the ice, glowed incandescently with ethereal luster. They lay frozen in sensual poses within the floor, their perfect hair glittering faintly.

"Let me guess, eternal beauty?"

She tutted softly, eyes passing from one girl to the next. "To be admired. Such frivolity. Now they can be admired by all who come to my court. You would be an excellent addition little Raith, perhaps frozen within a pillar beside my throne or a place of honor in the ceiling."

"No thank you, I doubt my request is worth as much," I said around my smile.

She stood from her chair and walked towards me, bare feet unbothered by the cold. As she did, I could see the eyes of those trapped turn to watch her. She circled me and I worked hard to appear relaxed. When she touched me, I fought down the urge to shudder and kept my eyes trained on hers. She ran a finger from my jaw to my forearm, leaving a trail of stinging cold in her wake. If I had been mortal I may have been dealing with a bit of frost bite. She brought the finger she had used to touch me into her mouth, swirling it in a scandalously erotic manner.

Although attractive, I had lived with my sisters long enough to be able to divert my attention elsewhere and had been with Justine long enough not to be that interested in the first place. She withdrew her finger with a hint of disappointment.

"There's a stale taste of power in you, but a nice little kick of an after-taste. Something new no doubt," she announced pleasantly.

"I don't suppose you're going to explain much more than that," I said dryly.

"No, I will not."

Figures. Damn faeries. Give disturbing information and let the victim agonize on the meaning. It could mean anything from my excursions with The Hunt, the last heavy feeding I had done on Justine, or just my withdrawal from sexual feeding altogether and my new, weaker methods of feeding over at my salon. Hell, she could be referring to my new cologne. I have no idea.

"Name your price Lady," I prompted again.

She paused thoughtfully. "We are in need of a new Knight."

"How about no, I saw your last one and he definitely did not get to keep his good looks, let alone his health or mind," I replied pointedly.

"Are you sure you wouldn't want to consider my first offer?"

"Flattering, but I've no interest in being your personal popsicle."

"What about another woman for my collection? One of your past lovers perhaps? I trust you have good taste. One of your sisters would do too."

"What kind of person do you think I am?" I snarled, "I will not become your slave to do your sadistic will without question and I will not sacrifice anyone else to your manic desires."

"You sound just like him," she sneered. "That fool of the wizard had his head so full of ideals that he wasn't smart enough to know when to walk away, to know that he was too weak and powerless to make any sort of difference."

"You didn't know him. You have no idea the things he has done. He was a good person and that's all the difference this miserable world needs," I breathed, my fists clenched convulsively at my sides.

The cold of Winter ebbed away from my skin and conscience. Warmth sunk back into my veins. It did not burn, but soothed. Not anger, passion. Purpose. I came here not knowing what I wanted. Now I know. For him, for Harry and the message he carried.

Her eyes narrowed as she gouged my reaction. "A fool, just as he was. Would you like to see, little Raith, what happens to fools?"

She snapped her fingers, the sound bouncing around the cavern like frenzied footsteps. At her command, two enormous cobalt grey dogs entered the room. Their pelts shined eerily, considering me with the amber eyes of wolves, hidden cunning glittering through the soulless orbs. Between the two of them, they tugged and pushed a rectangular box of some sort, covered in heavy red velvet. Their teeth were bared with the effort, revealing long white fangs and powerful jaws. I wish I had brought Mouse with me.

I didn't want to know what was in the box. It wasn't like on Christmas or your birthday. It was more like on a horror movie and the main character walks down a darkened hallway and at the end there's that single room where you just know something will get him. It's the part where you always think, 'Doesn't he know he's going to die? It's so obvious. Why doesn't he get away while he still can?'

Just like in the movie I knew I was going to find out whether I knew something bad was going to happen or not and if it didn't kill me something equally terrible was bound to happen because here's the kicker, that's how the world works. The only way a story progresses is if you keep moving forward. The only way to know what's behind the door is to open it. The story goes on, around every corner and every bend.

The dogs pulled up to where the Winter Lady stood waiting. With increasing trepidation, Maeve wrapped her fingers around one of the many folds of crimson velvet before yanking it away, letting it fall in heavy pools of fabric upon the floor. The box turned out to be a huge plexi glass tank, similar to the ones magicians use for the water escape trick. There were only a few differences. This tank had no trick lock, only solid walls and a seamless lid that kept it closed. Normally when the curtain came off, the magician's assistant will have escaped the watery prison whole and healthy.

This time, things were a little reversed. The tank was not filled with water or a pretty assistant. In fact, inside the tank was the absolute _least_likely person on Earth. The reason it was so unlikely was because the person peering out at me through the inch thick plastic was no other than my previously confirmed dead brother.

"Harry?" I whispered, disbelief flooding my senses.

He lifted his hand and waved sheepishly. "Hey Thomas."

Dazed, I placed my hand on the glass, fruitlessly seeking the connection I had thought I'd lost. He looked fine, maybe a little pale, but his skin was unmarked and he stood tall, swathed in his customary black leather duster. Every fiber of my being wanted to believe he was there, but impenetrable dread weighed down my heart. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. He died in my arms. The Wardens had left behind a death scroll. Butters had confirmed his causes of death for god's sake! Doubt plagued my thoughts. Oh god, if it was real. Everything could be okay again. I wanted it so badly. To not hurt anymore. To know he was still there for me.

Something of my thoughts must have reflected on my face because my brother placed his hand in the same place as mine from his side of the glass, watching me sadly.

I turned back, voice hardening. "Let him go Maeve."

"And if I don't?" she asked coyly.

"I will submit to whatever terms you lay down."

She clapped her hands together in unrestrained glee. "A game then."

I nodded. "A game it shall be."

"Careful Thomas," Harry warned.

Four more dogs entered the cavern, bringing forth two more tanks, uncovered this time. The first one held a small child, a towheaded boy around seven or eight years old. He was slumped at the bottom of the tank, cheeks flushed with fever. He coughed weakly, undeniably sick. One of the dogs barked and he jumped, curling up into the fetal position. I shot Maeve a look of pure loathing before turning my attention to the last tank. My stomach lurched uncomfortably as I saw the willowy frame of Justine sitting cross legged inside her tank, looking scared.

"Justine!" I cried out, dashing over to her tank, ignoring the growls coming from the dogs at either side.

Catching sight of me, she stood up and beamed, hope restored within her glistening eyes.

I pounded on the glass with manic rage. "Maeve! These aren't terms I am willing to agree to."

She cackled merrily. "Too late for that, don't you think?"

Shit, shit, shit, double frickedy shit. She'd used my brother to slacken my defenses and made me forget to be cautious. Sloppy, unforgivingly sloppy. She slipped in two new variables, decisively dividing my priorities. She was going to hit hard and fast and I had a feeling I knew the game. It was the superhero's dilemma. A choice between an innocent, Louis Lane, or Robin. A choice between trust, love, or obligation. I'm so screwed. See, normally when this happens, something conveniently intervenes before the hero has to choose. In my case, that will most definitely _not _happen. Superman was an all around good guy. I suck out people's life energies through sex…and occasionally kick puppies. I wasn't going to get any slack.

The boxes were pushed into a line with my brother on the right, Justine in the center, and kid on the left. I stood before the boxes, Maeve at my back, demonic dogs to the sides, and nowhere to go.

I swallowed, "Let's play Maeve."

"Very well. Imagine yourself, if you will, driving along on a stormy night. You pass by a bus stop and you see three people waiting for the bus," she indicated to each box in turn, "There's a stranger who is on the brink of death, the love of your life, and a friend who once saved your life. Which one will you choose, knowing that there could only be one passenger in your car? You could pick up the kid, because he is going to die or you could take the old friend because this would be perfect chance to return the favor. However, you may never be able to find your lover again."

"Did you have to be so literal?" I blurted out in agitation.

She wagged her finger at me. "A game isn't fun unless you have a real sense of urgency, now would it?"

"If the danger's real it's usually not considered a game," shot Justine.

"Silence," Maeve hissed.

Justine flinched.

"Now Raith, you must choose and depending on whether or not your choice pleases me or not I will either only spare the one you choose or spare them all. Oh, and your time limit is," she flicked her wrist, "three and a half minutes."

Water began to fill the tank's interiors at an alarmingly fast rate. The child crawled up onto his hands and knees before bracing himself on the sides of the box to leaver himself upwards. I don't even know his name. If he died today, his mother would never even know what happened to him. Could he even swim? How long could he hold his breath? How long could any of them? Did it really matter? No matter how long they could stave off drowning, I'd still have to choose who'd get to live or die.

I caught my brother's eye, silently pleading for him to tell me what to do. He was strangely calm as if he already knew the outcome. He knew. I shook my head, trying to silently convey my denial, to assure him I wouldn't let that happen. He turned his head, staring stoically at the water already halfway up his calves and steadily rising to his knees.

Justine's frantic movements brought my focus back on her as the water splashed noisily about the tank as she pressed herself against the wall.

"Thomas, listen, just pick the kid. Lara will avenge my death and you know Harry would never want you to pick him over an innocent," tears filled her eyes, expression full of the love they never talked about. She blew a kiss into her hand and stuck it on the glass, leaving streaks of water from the water creeping up her thighs.

My thoughts derailed and spiraled out of control, a pit of despair threatening to swallow me whole. How could I choose? If I chose Justine's plan, Maeve might take it as a sign of weakness of take offence to the threat. If I saved Justine, there might be a chance she'd take it as a savagely selfish decision and be humored into mercy, but if she didn't…I'd be condemning a grade school kid to death who should be at home with his mom, being fed chicken noodle soup until he burst and I'd…

I'd lose Harry all over again and I just couldn't do that. I couldn't survive it a second time.

My palms were sweaty and I knew I was practically trembling on the spot. I didn't know what to do. There was nothing I could do. No way I could win. Knowing Meave, people were going to die, no matter what my decision was. She'd do it just to spite me. Bitch, crazy evil bitch. Any way you slice it, I was going to lose something important to me, whether it be someone I cared about or my morality.

You know the days you feel powerless against the weight of the world and you don't seem to have the strength to push yourself forward in life? Right now I was being crushed. In fact, I wasn't even giving a fight. I got smushed and now I've got my last minutes of suffering before I finally suffocated.

"You're answer Raith," Meave demanded impatiently.

"Don't bother Maeve," Harry drawled suddenly from his position. He was leaning casually against the wall, hands in the pockets already submerged within the water. His gaze fell lazily from the Winter Lady to Thomas, "Thomas has never been one for thinking games."

It was all so out of place that I was dumbfounded. Then, ever so slowly my thoughts started up again. Games, the word had come up three times now. Maeve was evil, of course she'd treat people's lives like playthings. But for Harry to consider this a game? No, like Justine said, it's no game when you're the one being played. Unless…this _was_ a game. Why else would Maeve waste her time with a story? She could have just told me to choose. Instead she gave me a story, something I could change and manipulate. Harry said a thinking game though, not a logic one. Something simple, I just needed to think.

_Think, think, think--_the voice in his head sounded kinda like Winnie-the-Pooh_--no! Must not be distracted. Think, think, THINK GOD DAMMIT!! Fear me Pooh and my very grownup cursing. _

I felt laughter creeping up my throat, unbidden, but not necessarily unwelcome. I let it out in short little bursts, forcing it, along with the suffocating pressure on my chest, to disperse, leaving me feeling wonderfully light and awesome.

Justine looked alarmed. Maeve, somewhat perturbed. Harry had a big smirk plastered on his face. He winked. I winked back. The kid couldn't do much more than tip toe himself above the surface of the water. I gave him a confident thumbs up before facing Maeve.

"You have made your decision, little Raith?"

"I have," my face split into a huge grin, "I'd trust my friend with the keys to my car in order to drive the stranger to the hospital and I'd spend my time waiting for him to return with my true love."

"Seems that there might actually be something behind the pretty face," Maeve said blandly, waving her hand again causing the front walls of the tank to disappear, water gushing outwards and creating slush as it met the frozen ground. The kid tumbled outwards, spluttering weakly. I took a moment to check on him before engulfing Justine in a carefully executed hug, she returned it, equally enthusiastic and careful.

"Good job Thomas," her breath tickled my ear.

I resisted the urge to kiss her. "You had doubts?"

"Maybe a little," she giggled.

"You think you can take care of the kid?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, we got nabbed at the same time. I was running an errand for Lara."

My brows knitted, "Fae can't just steal people."

"He's a changeling," she confirmed, "And my business was with the Winter Courts. Lady Maeve required a payment."

"Lara's still testing the waters?"

She jerked her head slightly. "Some other time."

"Right." Later, always later. Harry showed me that someday there might not be a later.

"Justine!" I called again, "Maybe if you can get away. Perhaps your hair needs a little attention. There's a place I know, real high end. They serve coffee there."

She tilted her head, almost looking over her shoulder, but not quite. "I like coffee."

I pictured her face as she walked off, holding the hand of the little boy. It made me feel better. My heart engulfed in a candy coated bubble, I walked back towards my brother. I did my best to remain cool and collected in order to retain my normal suaveness. I had an image after all. His jaunty half smile was what broke my reserve. I sprinted the last few steps, baring my teeth gamely.

His eyes widened as he realized my intent. "Thomas don't! You'll--mmph--"

His sentence was cut off as I caught him in a spectacular flying tackle, bringing him to the floor in a bone crushing hug.

Only…

There was something…wrong.

I couldn't _feel_ him. He was solid. There was mass and weight, flesh and bone, but there was no warmth, no smell, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath my cheek resting upon his chest, or the stir of air in my hair from his breath. No familiarity, no…_life._

Untangling myself, I scooted further away, still sitting on my ass due to my unresponsive legs. He remained lying down where he had fallen, staring unseeingly at the ceiling above us, arms limp at his sides.

"I tried to tell you not to touch me. I knew you wouldn't like it."

Hope is a fickle thing. It isn't powerful. It's made of corroded wood, beaten and worn. It's people who give it power. They give it wood finish and polish, reinforce it with their own efforts. I slapped some paint on it. I picked a nice color, but I didn't invest much more.

I brought my forehead to rest on my knees. I realized his eyes weren't the right color. They were too dark, almost black. It reminded me of the eyes they use for dolls and teddy bears. It felt like forever before I could form words.

"Fail safe?"

He nods and spreads his arms out as if preparing to make a snow angel.

"Doppelgänger," he answers, "Harry's dead then?"

"Yes," I say. "Are you supposed to take his place or something? Are you here to find a way to bring him back?" I have heard of such things. Ways to cheat death. They usually didn't turn out too hot.

"No," he shook his head glumly, "I'm only here to help _you_."

"How do you intend to do that?" I ask flatly.

"I already have. My only purpose was to aid you during Maeve's game. Harry knew you'd be retracing his steps. He assured you'd have a good enough bargaining chip," he replied.

His answer sparked my interest. "Does that mean there are more of you around?"

"No, but don't be surprised to find help in unexpected places."

Harry's always looking out for me.

He finally gets up, brushing off his jacket in a manner programmed into his being. He offers a hand made to look like someone else's.

"I do have one other task to fulfill."

I take the hand, trying to disregard the empty feeling when as we touched.

"What would that be?"

"To say good job and," he wagged his eyebrows, "give you props for being able to think _outside_ the box."

Yup, Harry is definitely still looking out for me. Him and his stupid jokes. He never really perfected the whole 'brother' thing. I didn't laugh, but it lodged itself somewhere in my severely deflated bubble of happiness, becoming all that much lighter.

He raised a hand in a motionless wave. "I suppose this is goodbye."

I mirrored him. "Say hi to him for me."

He smiled one last time before the details of his face and clothing began to blur and then fall away into a sudden brightness. Little bursts of incandescent blue light scattered wildly before gathering up again into a translucent sphere of pure light. I unconsciously extended my hand to touch it. It felt like sunshine. It responded to me, wrapping around my hand and moving across my skin in whirring little patterns. The faster it moved, the less light it produced. When it dimmed down to the size of a marble, I closed my hand around it, savoring the last bits of comfort it offered. It went out abruptly, taking the pleasant sensation with it. With the warmth gone I noticed an unfamiliar presence on my hand. I pulled it back to examine it, feeling a steady thrum of power.

Wrapped around my wrist was Harry's shield bracelet, its three shields jangling merrily. On two of my fingers rested a large, although not bulky silver ring. The last time I had seen these was when Harry pounded a ghoul's face in with a single punch.

Sometimes Harry's cooler than I tend to admit. Helping hand? Jeeze, it almost feels like he's still around. Thanks Harry.

I take another moment to admire my new bling before redirecting my attention to Maeve, who sat on her throne listlessly, unaffected by all that had happened.

"My information Maeve."

She blew a bit of hair out of her face. "Very well then."

**-O-**

I trekked back to the car, the distance hardly even making an impression on my conscience. I pushed the unlocking button a little too hard and the device broke. I threw it into a nearby dumpster in disgust. I slammed the car door closed behind me as I sat fuming sullenly.

Bob appeared suddenly in the passenger seat, looking unseemly cheery. "How did go boss?" He spotted my hand resting on the steering wheel. "Hey, I recognize those."

Through gritted teeth I told him the sordid tale. He bobbed his head at certain parts and frowned when I got to the end.

"Hmm, I suspected he was trying to manage a copy when he failed to animate a few things with his conscious," he remarked, deep in thought.

"You knew?!" I screamed in outrage. "I thought I was about to lose my brother all over again! I thought you were supposed to _help me._"

"As you may recall, I am a _wizard's _aid Mr. Vampire. Besides, dwelling on the past isn't going to get us very far," he chided, "What's our next lead."

Still fuming I slammed down the offending object on top of the dashboard.

Bob leaned forward to get a better look.

"It's a fortune cookie."

"Yup."

"You went through all that for a fortune cookie?"

"Yup, all that for a fucking fortune cookie."

"Well," Bob cleared his throat, "at least it has an address on the package."

"First we're going to the safehouse," I replied, starting up the car and driving back to the main road

"Why?"

"Need to pick up a few things," I hold out a crumpled piece of paper. "This was attached to the bracelet."

The paper read:

Bring Mouse.

--Harry

P.S. Order the stir fry green beans.

Dammit Harry. I hate Chinese food.

**-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-**

**A/N: Hey did everyone understand the "Hope" and "paint" metaphor I had going? It made sense to me, but I don't know if it quite got across. What about the "thinking outside the box" joke? Did you guys get that? I also hope that the story was explained enough. I'm trying not t give away information that leads to other things so…yeah. Okay, the next chapter might take a bit longer, but I will try getting it up on the weekend. Cheers, and thanks for the reviews you will hopefully bestow upon me. **


	3. Magical Moments

**Hi everybody! ducks fruit being thrown at me Yeah…late update. Heh heh. I am really, truly sorry about that and I really, really didn't mean to let it get so long, but as school starting drawing to a close and with AP testing and extended essays due, I was just dead. I was also having a lot of difficulty with plot arrangement. Hey, I gave up a good night's sleep before my first driving lesson to get this posted. Be grateful! **

**Anyway, I sincerely hope this was worth the wait. Thank you for sticking with me and I hope to see many happy reviews or else I won't have the motivation to keep going.**

**-O-**

My safe house is situated in the Lincoln Park district. Full of young and the restless families just starting out and anyone else who can afford to inhabit Chicago's most popular neighborhood. On the neighborhood's far eastern edge is the park for which the neighborhood is named and includes the nation's oldest zoo and two museums. Lincoln Park includes many of Chicago's most popular bars, restaurants, theater companies, and retail shops. A fairly good place to hide. It's chic, but it's better than the Gold Coast. I mean, there's enough disgruntled workers, tired of serving rich brats and eccentric artists there to get an easy bribe for info on its inhabitants. I mind as well paint a red and yellow target on my forehead saying, 'Yes, I am in fact an ex-Raith. Any enemies please shoot here.'

We pulled up a few blocks from the bar that my apartment is situated over.

Bob gave it an appraising look. With a sprinkling of esthetic sarcastic humor, he commented, "It's not seedy per say, but I highly doubt it attracts the sorry souls hoping to drink away their problems and wallow in their unhappiness."

"I need it for my cover."

"Oh, and what would that be?"

I grumbled something under my breath.

He raised a hand to his ear. "Sorry boss, didn't quite catch that."

I gave in, not really up to anymore probing from the incessant spirit.

"I'm a male prostitute from Las Vegas who goes to Chicago for stripping when Las Vegas gets to be too much. There, are you happy?"

A few sniggers escaped as he shook from silent laughter. There was a moment when he honestly tried to stop before he broke down again into silent fits of hysteria.

I glared. "Get in the skull Bob."

Bob looked stricken. "What? You can't be serious. I've got a body now. What's the point of having a body if I can't walk into a nudy bar?"

"It's not a nudy bar and you don't have a body. You've got a make-believe, mirage body and I am not going to be stuck explaining why you can't be slapped after lewd comments."

"Oh ye of little faith."

"Now Bob!" I ordered sternly.

He sulked for a few seconds before turning into an orange smoke cloud that descended into the skull sitting in the passenger seat. I stuffed it into the nylon back pack and slung it over my shoulder before retrieving my duffle from my trunk.

The bar, despite my profile, was actually pretty decent. A friend of mine owned it and is generally thankful for the influx of customers I bring in during my brief stays. Those customers tend to stay loyal too, coming in every few weeks to check if I've been in.

She greeted me affectionately, offering to get someone to carry my bags. I declined and set my sights to my room, taking a brisk pace towards the stairs. Unfortunately, at about six steps up a few customers chose that exact moment to recognized me.

"Hey, it's Trip!"

A short, twiggy burnette waved jovially. "You going to treat us to another spectacular Trip-tease, while you're here? We've been waiting awfully long."

I could hear a muffled sort of giggle from the innards of my back pack. Entirely fed up, I yanked the strap off my shoulder and let it fall none too gently to the floor.

"Whoops," I announced dramatically, raising my voice enough to be heard through the layers of nylon, "Looks like I dropped my bag. Wouldn't it be a shame if I _accidentally _kicked it down the stairs and someone mistook it for a piece of no good, rotten junk and threw it away?"

The bag fell silent immediately. I placed it back over my shoulder, muttering darkly. My admirers went back to their drinks, assuming I had an even rougher time in Vegas than normal.

The one room apartment looked exactly like when I had last left it. Sparse furniture, dark colors, computer desk, fridge, and an enormous black futon couch. I had been expecting all of my brother's things to be littered everywhere. Newt eyes in the kitchenette, blasting rod on the table, candles on every available surface. This was definitely empty.

"Titania? Am I in the wrong place or something?" When that garnered no answer, I began to pace, peering over my shoulder in random intervals, "Titania? Summer Queen? Are you here babe? Sweet cheeks? Doll face? Tinkerbell?"

"I am not a half-wit pixy that spreads shiny dust and can only make bell sounds at you, young Raith," came the indignant reply from the couch.

There, sitting crossed legged and wearing a stunning red cocktail dress, was Titania in all essence of pissed-offedness.

"You sure do dress skimpy though."

The glare she sent me was one of pure loathing.

"Right," _note to self, faeries make bad enemies…shouldn't I know that though? I mean, I spent the afternoon with Maeve. Second note to self, remember important details about people before I open my mouth, _"I was just wondering where all my inheritance has gone off to."

"I thought you'd appreciate Harry's things to be placed separate from yours."

She pointed towards my closet.

"How thoughtful of you."

"You are not pleased?"

"That's my only closet! Where am I supposed to hide all my laundry?" I whined.

"Then I suggest you to actually _wash_ your laundry."

Placidly, I walked over to my closet, hand hovering above the handle.

"Nothing bad is going to happen if I open it, right?"

She nodded towards the door. "See for yourself."

"Oh yeah, and suddenly have an avalanche of books and nasty chemicals dump right into my face? Thanks a lot lady," I grumbled under my breath.

I twisted the cheap brass knob in slow trepidation. I sighed in relief as the door swung out on its own accord. Wow, where there had previously been a two by three foot closet was a spacious circular room, cavern almost, walls lined with shelves and a desk snaking its way along the curved walls, organizing Harry's stuff like it had never been before.

"Huh, spiffy."

"I am glad it pleases you."

Mouse's bed was underneath a section of the desk. He lifted his head from the plushy cushion and slowly lumbered over to me, still a little hazy from sleep. I gave him an affectionate nudge with my leg and a pat on the head. He watched me more than a little suspiciously.

"I'm fine," I assured him.

Mouse snorted and walked past me into the main room. By the time he began sniffing at the futon, Titania was nowhere to be found. Damn faeries, see if I ever clap for one of them again. I helped myself to some beer I stored in the cupboard, thoughtfully examining my new digs, setting the bracelet onto my palm and fingering the little black beads lining the bracelet in between the three dangling shields and once again feeling the gentle sensation of power set into my hand.

"Hey Bob?" I asked absently. I saw his image materialize just to the right of me, leaning against the counter, reflected on the glass of my beer bottle. "How am I supposed to use Harry's doo-hickeys if I can't use magic?"

"Simple, you use borrowed magic," he nodded to the beads, "Each one of those have enough magic packed in it for a one time use."

"I don't understand," I struggled to recall what Harry had told me, "I thought the magic that makes up the foci must touch with your own magic in order to condense it into a concentrated force."

Bob's face lit up as he moved in full swing within his element.

"Yes, very good, but in this case the beads will work as a buffer. They provide the raw magic and energy required for the bracelet to shape that into a shield. Now all you need to activate it is…?"

"The will," I supplied, smoothly ignoring the fact he was addressing me like an everyday schoolboy…even if I would look totally hot in the outfit.

"Exactly," Bob's expression turned serious, "but keep in mind the beads count for each impact on the shield, not the number of times you summon it."

I threw down the bracelet in frustration, which clattered on the tabletop.

"Shit Bob, there are only thirty beads. If I'm up against a machine gun--"

"Then I suggest," Bob stated, voice rising above my own, "you practice so as not to waste the strenuous amount of time and effort Harry invested into those _thirty _beads."

I flinched slightly, Bob's reprimand cutting deep and far too close to home. It implied I was selfish…ungrateful. Shame burned dully in the pit of my stomach. Harry had done a lot for me, including saving my butt barely half an hour ago. It's just hard right now. Really, really hard.

I swallowed, suddenly in desperate need of privacy. "Maybe later Bob."

He peered at me down his nose in a disapproving manner before dispersing into a smoky cloud and floating lazily into his skull. Mouse whined sadly and placed his head on my knees. I scratched his ears for a few seconds before tiredly standing and making my way to the computer. I would need to alert my contacts and make sure I had open communication channels. I wonder how easy it will be to tell people of my brother's death. I wonder how it'll look all typed up, neat and orderly…and permanent. I push the power button with heavy reluctance only to have absolutely nothing happen. Frowning I check the monitor switch, which decides not to respond either. I check the plugs and hit the hard drive a few times before I saw a slight flicker on the screen and then blankness once more. I huffed, pouting slightly at the piece of hardware. I had just bought it and it goes retarded on me. Maybe I didn't do the setup procedures right or, more likely, Titania's magic closet room was throwing everything off.

Grumbling, I made my way back to the closet door and was about to shut it when, thinking better of it, I stepped inside. The computer was either screwed entirely or would fix itself in time and as neither of those outcomes were conducive to my investigation, I mind as well abandon it. Harry's notebooks were probably in here and knowing him, most of his case work would be jotted down somewhere. A large stack of Mead 70 page college ruled notebooks in the corner looked fairly promising. I picked up the first one only to find some notes about potions. The first page was titled _'Awesome Sauce' _and scrawled under it was _'trophy figure, yearbook clippings, hamburger, Ode To Joy, expensive cologne/perfume, ticket stub from amusement park…'._ Huh, popularity drinks, that should have been a great seller. I read a few more of the bizarre recipes before setting them aside and taking up another one. It took about three notebooks before I found case notes, though much to my misfortune nothing seemed to be dated. I ploughed onwards through the sometimes unreadable scrawls and weirdly shaped '_q_'s, listlessly sifting through account after account of nothingness jobs or disjointed comments from what I assumed was months, if not years, past. I tossed aside a useless doodles pad, but didn't pick up another one.

Mouse pushed a few of the notebooks I had thrown back into a pile next to me and perked up his ears in inquiry.

"I know, I know. I've got to be patient," I dragged my hand through my hair, "It's just that, one would think that if Harry had all this time to make his magic gizmos, he'd have jotted down a few notes for me."

Mouse turned up his nose a little and snorted.

"I suppose so. Harry must have been busy with more important things and probably counted on me to figure this stuff out on my own."

Mouse wagged his tail energetically, but didn't accompany it with his customary doggy grin.

"Yeah, it's just hard…I really miss him, which is stupid right? It's not like we talked everyday or anything, but it's nice to know I've always got someone I could call. I don't know. Things are moving too fast and I feel like I'm just drifting along. You know what I mean?"

Mouse butted his head against my chest. I embraced him slightly, running my hand over his well kept fur.

"I'm glad I've still got you buddy."

He whuffed in agreement.

I looked him straight in the eye. "You think you can grab me a beer from the fridge. I'm getting pretty thirsty here."

He sneezed and stalked off to his bed cushion in refusal. His strut suggested disapproval.

"I do not drink too much!"

He sneezed again.

"And quit judging me!" I turned back to the desk, "Sheesh, you act like my mom."

A bit miffed and still thirsty, the stack looked incredibly unappealing. Casting around my eye for anything remotely interesting I noticed a promising red box of Cheese-Its. Trust my brother to keep a few snacks in the workplace. I snatched it and munched down happily until I remembered that what I really wanted was something to drink and that the cheesy crackers were just serving to make my mouth parched. Damn my easily diverted attention.

I searched the general vicinity, hoping Harry would keep a water bottle somewhere close by. I was rewarded with a third full bottle of light blue Gatorade. Mouse growled menacingly from behind me.

I shot him a look of defiance. "It's fine. Can't a man enjoy electrolyte fueled drinks without being all sweaty and athletic?"

Ignoring my dog mother I quickly untwisted the cap and chugged down the remainder of the drink, which was surprisingly cold for something at normal room temperature. I could feel the cold slowly trickle down my throat and into my stomach, churning slowly. A small ache erupted somewhere behind my eyes and a little down my throat…a brain freeze? My body grew heavy and finally went slack entirely, my knees giving out from under me and the now empty bottle falling from my rapidly numbing fingers. Collapsing slowly to the ground, my cheek came to rest on the spotless white floor. My eyes flicked over to the fallen bottle. Fruit Punch? When the hell was fruit punch made light blue? My breathing slowed without my permission and my eyelids began to droop, but it felt like my brain had detached from my body and I was wide awake, totally untouched by the numbness my body seemed to be entrenched in. I could still acknowledge that something was very wrong even when everything was slowly dimming and colors tapered off into darkness.

_Empty. An endless void of nothingness. I like these kinds of dreams. I choose a sidewalk on a clear sunny day and then a path to the park to walk through. I want Justine too, but things aren't working like they should. The sidewalk's wobbly and made of a milky white smoke. The sounds of my footsteps are off beat. I can hear the sound of Justine's clothes rustling beside me, but can't see her._

"_Justine? Justine!"_

_It isn't Justine who answers._

"_Thomas! Thomas, here!"_

_My heart begins to pound wildy alongside the frantic rhythm of my quickening footsteps. "Harry!"_

"_Thomas, you need to listen to me. You have to listen," his voice echoes._

_**You never listen. Never.**_

_A distant chimes sounds through the emptiness, its sound leaving a tinny ringing in the back of my mind. I run forward and all around me shadowy buildings materialize though the blankness, undulating slowly as if only a mirage of a faded memory, colors muted and shape undefined. The mist billows out from under my hurried steps, turning to the dirty grey of cement._

"_Harry?!"_

"_I'm here!"_

_The voice seems to come from all sides and I blindly make my way forward, but at the last possible moment I turn to my left. Just around the corner. He's there, on the other side of the bend. I know it. _

_And he is. _

_His back is toward me and just as he is about to turn around someone turns out all the lights and takes away the floor. Suddenly I'm falling, falling through the all consuming dark of oblivion where the stark white nothingness had been before. There is no wind yet I close my eyes as if by instinct. It is no darker than when I open them. My heart skips a beat and then there is ground beneath my feet, but still no sky or any other plane of existence._

_There appears a light, shining upwards from the floor. I go to it, drawn by its persistent brightness, forcing the darkness at bay. There is a barred window upon the floor. I kneel before it, but do not test the bars. Below me I can see a chamber. Harry is in it. He's chained against the wall, torso bare and nose bleeding sluggishly. His body sags and his head lays limp. If not for the sound of his ragged breath I would think him dead. He lies so still. Defeated._

_Another figure enters from the side, steps silent. From the inner folds of his robes he pulls out a leather whip, which trails along the ground like a snake. _

"_Harry look out!" I call out in warning._

_He does not stir and the whip goes down without his notice. It makes the sickening crack of leather meeting flesh and he jerks and screams, brought back into an ever growing nightmare. The figure strikes again and again and my brother has not the strength to halt his screams. I shout and pull at the unforgiving bars._

_**Too late. It has me. You doomed me to this pain. You didn't save me. You weren't there. I was waiting. I called for you, but there was never any answer. You abandoned me. You left me to die.**_

"_No," I wailed, "no, I didn't know."_

_The room is filling with a torrent of icy water as dark as the deepest part of the ocean. In seconds it is filling up to the grate, chilling my arms and legs as I continue to tug and strain at the bars. Knowing no other way I shove my arm through the grate and through the numbing cold I feel something through the water. Without question, I wrap my unfeeling fingers around it and hold fast. _

_There came a rush of color and sound. The void began to fill all at once, my senses overflowing with a cacophony of sensations and sudden clarity. I kneeled upon the rocky earth of a cliff, small rocks digging into my knees. Grass was speckled in little bursts among the beige sand. The sky was blue and the sun so bright it hurt my eyes to see._

_I am at the edge of the cliff and still clutched within my grasp my brother dangles over the edge, the rocky bottom at least a thousand feet down. I nearly sobbed in relief when Harry's pallid face peers up at me. _

_He manages a weak smile._

"_Big bro's always looking out for me."_

_**Except when I needed you most.**_

_That shot an immediate death curse to my renewed happiness and I felt my grip on Harry slip half an inch. I tightened my grip as best I could, hoping my panic isn't too obvious. There is a slight hint of fear in Harry's eyes, but I look away._

"_Harry, I'm not going to let go. I will never let go. I won't fail you again," I vow._

_He looks weary. _

"_Thomas you've got to let go sometime."_

"_No, I can't," I feel a tear drift down my cheek, "You're my brother."_

_He gives me the best smile he can muster. "I know. You're special Thomas. You're the only one who can find me." _

"_I don't…understand," I say between my heavy breathes. Holding him is getting more and more difficult._

"_I'm here. I am always here," by some will of his own, he forces me to look him in the eye, "Let go now Thomas."_

"_No, you've been dead too long to think I'd do that," I say desperately, voice cracking._

_There was a sudden change in his face, a flash of anger. Hate and pure unadulterated rage reflected deep within his eyes. Accusation written across his features._

_**You killed me!**_

_Stunned, I didn't even notice my grip on him slacken until he was falling, falling away from everything. _

_Thomas?_

I wake up to an insistent nudge around my head. I'm lying on my side in the middle of an unrecognizable alleyway. I pushed away Mouse's massive head, forcing my legs under me, wobbling feebly and threw up beside the dumpster. I wretched miserably until it dissolved into dry heaves, my body trembling weakly. I leaned against the side of the dumpster and concentrated on breathing evenly.

"Thomas, are you alright?"

"Fine, just fine," I rasped. "What the hell happened?"

"That juice was a panic potion. It was meant to be an immediate form of transportation for a quick getaway," Bob chewed on his lip, "It is supposed to lock on the Beatle, but I believe there wasn't enough potion to carry you the full distance."

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "How'd you end up here?"

"Mouse brought me…" he paused, choosing his words carefully, "You were…distraught. Yelling and moving. We were unsuccessful in waking you."

"Yeah, I figured," I replied bitterly.

"Yes well it doesn't help that I can't touch you. I mean, really. At least I got here. All you people do is complain. I never--"

I held up my hand to silence him. A faint metallic click reached my ears.

"Take cover!!"

I ducked behind the dumpster just as the sound of bullets rang through the air. I saw Mouse swiftly dodge and then leap into a nearby dumpster towards the entrance of the alley. A few bullets pinged against the shielding of my smelly hiding place. Bob had not moved.

"Bob!" I screamed, "Move!"

He rolled his eyes as another assault of gunshots rained down to which Bob paid no notice as he calmly strode over to my position, while bullets hit and went directly through his spectral form.

"Oh…right."

He gave me a withering look before looking me sternly in the eye.

"Thomas, there are two shooters on the roof of the building adjacent to this alleyway. They haven't got much room to relocate, but we can't allow them the time to gain a better position."

I nod, quickly absorbing the info and processing what I could into a plan.

"What weapons do they have?"

"Guns," Bob answered gravely.

"I know that!" I screamed, "What _kind_?!"

"Well how am I supposed to know? The only guns I've ever seen--"

"Right, crossbows," I wracked my brains, "Did you or Mouse bring down any weapons?"

"I don't know, do either of us having working thumbs?" he bit back, wincing slightly as a bullet hit the wall beside him after taking a scenic route through his head.

Trying to get a better view of their weapons, I leaned a little out from the corner and twisted my neck towards the adjacent building. The immediate response was for a bullet to rip through what little portion of shoulder I had risked from safety. I grunted and pulled back, feeling fresh blood begin to slide down my arm. Distracted and pressed for time I could only muster up enough of my borrowed life essence to repair the muscle damage, leaving it as a mere flesh wound that could heal on its own. I scooted closer to the wall as I dared without getting too close to the veritably digested foods I had purged from my stomachs a few minutes ago.

"Thomas listen, you have Harry's most practical field weapons. _USE THEM!!"_

I looked to my hand now stained with drying blood.

"Helluva time to start practicing Bob!"

"Is it my fault you didn't practice any before drinking yourself away!"

"What?!" I cried indignantly, "If you had just stuck around and insisted!"

"Do I look like your mother? Stupid, witless--"

"Okay okay, my fault, doesn't matter. How do I use these things?" I interjected.

Bob took a deep breath. "You must concentrate. You must focus on what exactly you want the shield to do, its size, placement," he makes a few wild hand gestures, "and what it shields against. Use your emotions, fuel the mental image with your need."

"Okay…I can do that," I ran my hand through my hair, "Shield, bullets, uh big…what else do I have to remember?"

"Oh Christ, just practice a quick one right here."

"What?! I could be wasting the bead that actually might save my life."

"Yes or you can die anyways because you weren't able to make anything better than a soap bubble. Besides, unless the shield actually _shields_ against something it isn't counted as a use."

"It doesn't matter, we don't have time for this."

"Let them shoot you again. They might think they've only got to wait a bit longer to make sure you bleed out."

"It isn't as fun as it looks you know," I shot back. I whistled shrilly. Mouse bugled in response and leapt out of the dumpster, weaving in and out of the line of fire and sufficiently entertained the shooters.

_Okay, here it goes._ I wiped away the thought as quickly as I had thought it and focused on breathing. Then in the utter quiet of my mind I summoned the word shield. I wanted it strong and big, really big. With a woosh a flashing thing of shiny glass burst from the bracelet like a hologram and it kept getting bigger…and bigger…and bigger. It expanded until it hit both sides of the alleyway and grated against the brick walls before seeming to pop and dispersed. One of the beads crumbled to dust and fell away, the other beads shifted downwards to fill in the missing space. Oops.

**29 beads left**

"You're going to have to make it a little more specific than big Thomas!" Bob yelled.

"I'm trying!"

I took a deep breath, more than a little shaken. I was scared in fact. This was real. I had just willed a nonexistent object out of nowhere. Magic was _real_. My magic…Harry's magic. I've seen it done a million times, been saved by it, been hurt by it. My mother had it, my brother, my father, the world I lived in, but never me. This sure wasn't the 'poof' instant toad where there was a person kind of thing like in Harry Potter. How dare JK Rowling lie to me like this?

I tried again, but this time I thought about everything, everything all at once. Instead of forcing my mind into quiet I embraced the blind panic and the sickly remains of my emotions after my dream. It seemed to construct itself inside my minds eye. All its workings and specifics laid themselves within my control. The bracelet hummed in merriment.

I leapt out from behind the dumpster accompanied by a blinding flash of blue light. It was not the weak glassy film I had produced before but instead flared into place in a blurring swirl of colors that solidified in an instant into a curved rampart of purified silver energies. Bullets pinged off it, alerting me easily to the general location of the shooter.

"The ring with the roman numerals is a telekinetic burst ring," Bob shouted above the cacophony, "Use it!"

I gritted my teeth as I began to weave forward, desperately holding onto the shield. "How?!"

"THINK!!"

I stretched out my hand to the shooters general position and tried articulating my thoughts.

_Boom_ was the only thing that came to mind.

The ring glowed red and burned smartly as it pulsated a small wave of energy toward the shooters. With an interesting sound like a million popped balloons the guns they were holding flew up and hit them directly in the face. The shooter on the left, to his misfortune holding a heavy M-16 machine gun, fell out of view when his nose basically exploded with blood on impact. The other man was a luckier and dodged away from his flying pistol before gathering up his companion and moving towards the other end of the building.

I sprinted across the street in hot pursuit, Bob's call of, "THAT WAS THE BEST YOU COULD THINK OF?!" ringing in my ears. I hoped to head them off on the far side of the building, possibly finding their escape vehicle. To my disgust there was no car in sight, but the buildings were just close enough to jump. Scaling the fire escapes with inhuman speed I arrived to the top of the building, expecting to find the injured shooter either dead or abandoned by his companion. I searched the area, but there was no sign of them. The blood trail lead nowhere off or away from the roof.

Narrowly escaping death and no closer to knowing anything. What else was new? I used the elevator down and made my way back to the alleyway to pick up Bob and Mouse. That potion had eaten away most of my daylight and I'd have only a few hours before nightfall. I counted my remaining beads. Four remained, but I had no time to dwell on my misfortunes. I've got a plate of green beans with my name on it.

**-O-**

The address brought me to a nice, modest neighborhood, the kind where all the kids played in the middle of the street and a small grocery is on the corner, convenient for parents, but far enough for kids not to chronically empty out their pockets on sweets and trinkets. It's where happiness exists. Undiluted happiness. Where there's no drive by shootings or break-ins. Somewhere that kids actually live with their moms and dads, and ate dinner as a family.

Truthfully, there was nothing wrong with my childhood. It was without wanting, comparatively to my brother. A house full of siblings all willing to play with me and give me all the attention I'd ever need. Nice nannies, even if they only lasted a few months at a time. Lots of toys, an established family structure. A welcoming home. I blew out candles on my birthday and stole cookies from the kitchen before dinner just like any other kid. Then I turned seventeen and my father introduced me to a really pretty girl. She blushed a lot and she was _willing_. He encouraged me. They all did. I killed her. She was my very first. It had felt so good. Mind blowing. My father was clever. He didn't pick someone I might have cared about, just something my demon would awake to. It wasn't as shocking as one would think. I didn't wake up next to a cold corpse or remember much from it.

From then on I was introduced to the real life my family lead. I found out that my sisters were more than two dozen times my age. I was introduced into the intricate workings of the White Court and my blooming powers. I felt the Hunger constantly. That dark presence that pushed all of my humanity aside. I found out about our cousins in the Red Court. I started to notice subtle, or not so subtle, differences and oddities in my father's house guests.

In all honesty, I had known beforehand, more than perhaps any of my sisters had. It was mostly because of my mother. She told me stories about magic since the cradle against my father's wishes, but she was never one to show obedience. She was the only one who ever stood up to him. There was always a smirk about her face whenever she was with Raith, a blatant reminder that she was playing him just as much as he was playing her. She lived a life carefully guarded, her heart and soul shielded. She was never like that with me though. She was always quick to give me a hug or, my favorite, show me her magic. She preferred working with water. She'd manipulate its shape and then freeze it, making me little statues of farm animals and jungle creatures. At one time she reconfigured the molecular structure of a glass of water into something like a semi-gas and made it implode on itself and shatter the glass. She taught me how to generate light from my pentacle necklace. After she left I wasn't able to do it anymore.

She helped me realize my family wasn't what it seemed. Once two of my sisters closest to my age convinced me to play out in the rain. I had really wanted to go, but I knew I wasn't supposed to. They said it was okay and I spent all afternoon and well into the night splashing in puddles dressed in nothing more than bright yellow shorts and a t-shirt. I was found asleep in the middle of the yard a few hours later, burning with fever. My sisters volunteered to take care of me without hesitation. They had an extension put on their final projects for college. My mother gave them quite a punishment for that. Before she left she told me that my family measured their love for me by my worth, that I needed to be resourceful in order to survive. When I was four my only brother, Jonathan, went away to study at Cambridge. My mother set me straight. Jonathan was murdered by my father, but not by his own hand. She warned it would never be by his hand. I cried for days when she left. I loved her so much, but I could never work up the nerve to ask where she went. Any mention of her would incite my father's considerable wrath. I was five at the time. What the hell was I supposed to do? I missed her so much. Life was a lot more confusing when I wasn't being guided by her firm presence. When I was old enough to use the Raith family resources I searched for her. It didn't take long to discover she was dead or her cause of death. She died in the delivery room, giving birth to another man's child, ready to cherish and love another child barely a year after abandoning me. It had taken years to get over the feelings of betrayal that had overwhelmed me. How could she? My father wasn't the greatest person to be around, but wasn't I enough to keep fighting for? Wasn't I important enough? Good enough? The feelings had ebbed away once I began to know my father more, like what he did to my sisters. After that the question became why she hadn't taken me with her. I could have had a whole other life. One with Harry and his father. It would be just the four of us. I would be Harry's big brother. I'd show him how to play tag and hide and seek, teach him numbers and the alphabet. They'd take us to the park on the weekends and mom would make our lunches for school. Maybe we would have been happy. Or maybe…it would have been worse. Mom was being hunted, she didn't die merely from giving birth. Harry's dad didn't last too long either. We would have been sent to an orphanage without even the comfort of being together because Harry hadn't stayed in the orphanage. After a few years he had been chosen for his apprenticeship. That would have left me alone with no possible way to be accepted back into the Raith household.

Maybe life was better off the way it turned out. I ignore the dull aching in my chest. A little boy's dreams are hard to break, but hurt to carry on in the cold desolation of the adult world.

A few blocks down I pulled up to park right in front of a moderately sized restaurant, painted in a vibrant red. I opened the car door and stepped out, peering surreptitiously into the window, the gold lettering spelling out the restaurant's name hindering my perusal. Mouse cleverly unlocked the door by himself and hopped down beside me and nosing the door close.

"Saigon?" Bob questioned quizzically, phasing through the car and stepping up beside me, "Last time I saw a map, that was in Vietnam."

"Bob!" I practically yelped, "You can't just walk through car doors when we're in public. People can see you now remember?" I snapped in irratation.

"Will do boss." He gave me a mock salute before moving towards the front door.

I sighed, rubbing my throbbing temple. "Uh Bob."

He halted, looking guilty. "Maybe you should open the door."

"You think?"

I pushed open the door, bell tinkling invitingly as the heavenly scent of home made cooking and spices assaulted me. I stepped aside to allow Bob to pass, who, just to spite me passed a little through my side. I rolled my eyes and crouched down to look into Mouse's eyes.

"Okay boy, stay here and watch our backs. I'll call if you can come in or if we need help. Got it?"

Mouse nodded gravely and gave a doggy grin before butting his huge head against my shoulder. I gave him a reassuring pat and walked into the restaurant. It was classier and roomier than it had appeared outside. Impeccable white table clothes adorned the tables and stylish, asian-esque plate sets were a good contrast to the cloth it ornamented. The plates were square, but had a shallow dip and the chopsticks beside it alternated between obsidian black and pastel green. The only thing odd was that there was no other customers or workers, which wasn't all too eerie since it was a little past normal dinner times.

No one seemed to be at the counter, so we sat ourselves down at one of the empty tables. I snagged a menu from a chair in the corner and plopped it down onto the table. Bob looked a little more than sullen.

"Oh, I assume you're not eating?" I extended the courtesy apologetically.

Bob gave a disgruntled, "No, I will not," before going back to glaring murderously at the empty dinner plate.

"How are you even able to sit on a chair when you go through walls and stuff?" I ask curiously.

He sighed long-sufferingly. "It's the same reason why I don't phase through the ground and end up in Russia."

"And that would be…?"

"Do you even know where Russia is located?" Bob asked cynically.

"Yes," I answered defensively, "it's right near Prussia."

Bob stared at me bemusedly. "Weren't you the one who tried touching the mordite _after _you were informed it was commonly called a deathstone?"

"Hey, it didn't look all that scary."

"Heaven on earth, it was called deathstone! What more indication do you need?"

I took a moment for a few deep calming breaths. I would not stoop so low as to fight with a technically intimate object that should be under my control. I would not.

"Whatever Bob, answer the question."

"Very well then. You see, I can will my image anywhere I like, but that doesn't mean I can affect the things I, for all intensive purposes, touch," he gestured to the table, "Did you notice I did not move the chair when I sat or that the table cloth has not moved an inch from its original spot, despite my presence?"

"Ohhh, like in the _Sixth Sense_," I said proudly.

"Indeed," he deadpanned, "never mind the magical ability it takes to perform this particular feat. Real magic is nothing compared to Hollywood magic any day."

"Exactly, now shut up, I'm trying to order." I dove back into the menu, searching for the item Harry had specified in his note.

It was a very authentic menu. I knew this because it was in some variation of asian script and the English description was rather lacking and hardly discernable. I groaned as I perused the list with the least writing until I figured out that it was merely the beverage selection.

"Um Thomas," Bob called timidly.

"Not now Bob."

"Thomas you really should--"

I waved him off. "Just a minute I think I've found the vegetarian section."

"Thomas, get your face away from that menu and pay attention!"

Bob's exclamation was met with the sight of him frantically dodging away from the hand of a young Asian boy, who seemed fixated on Bob's shiny ascot button. The kid couldn't be more than ten and was not pale, but had a light tan and ears that stuck out slightly. His black hair was cut short and close to the scalp in a way reminiscent to Shaolin students. His eye brows were furrowed in determination as he tried for another grab at Bob's button.

I dropped the menu as I leaned forward in order to intercept the kid's hand.

"Whoa kid, don't touch him. He's got," _Don't say STDs, don't say STDs. Must not soil innocent mind_, "old people cooties!"

The kid's eyes widened. Nimbly ducking away from my hand, he darted berneath the table. Regaining my balance and taking the time to replace any tableware that had been upset by the brief struggle, I was just about to pull aside the table cloth when I heard a triumphant whoop and a yell of surprised from Bob. Suddenly appearing behind Bob's chair, the kid was now delightedly shoving his hand through the back of Bob's head, effectively passing through the illusion, fingers wiggling out of Bob's startled face.

I shot up from my seat, but tripped and crashed to floor when I discovered one of my shoelaces had been tied around the leg of my chair. A little dazed and face plastered onto the floor, I began to hastily untie my shoe.

"Thomas! Thomas, a little help would be appreciated!"

"Get back into your skull Bob," I ordered.

"Won't that make this worse?"

"Worse than it already is? Just obey my orders and get into the freakin' skull!" I bellowed.

There was a flash as he abandoned his image and gasp of surprise from the kid.

Knots undone I got up, rubbing my side as I did. Oh boy, this was going to be hard to explain. The kid looked shocked, eyes glued to the spot where Bob had previously been. My mouth was partially open to say something like, 'Abracadrabra! Don't worry kid, I'm a magician' or some other equally lame excuse when I felt something bump my leg. What the hell? I looked under the table to see the kid's face nervously peering back at me. WHAT THE HELL! I checked topside, but the kid was no longer there. How could the kid move so fast?

Mouse chose to make his appearance at last and barked twice, growling in what seemed to be a doggy version of reprimand. On either side of the table, the same kid surfaced from underneath the tablecloth, both wearing the same white button up shirts and red pants, covered with a simple black waiter's apron.

Twins, perfectly identical twins.

Of course. It's just been that kind of day.

**-O-**

"I am very sorry," Mr. Seung apologized again, words somewhat halted by a heavy accent, "My sons are always causing trouble."

He yelled something at them in Korean (as Bob had been kind enough to identify) which caused them both to cower with identical expressions that told me that they've done this sort of thing _very _often.

"Our restaurant is closed, but you can have dinner with us."

"Um thank you," I said hesitantly, "I was supposed to order the fried green beans."

He smiled widely. "Oh yes, that is a good choice. My wife makes it best."

He whisked away into the kitchen and left me feeling mildly ridiculous. I had thought 'fried green beans' would be a secret password that would reveal a devious plot full of treachery and deceit that would ultimately lead me to my brother's killer and allow me to have my revenge. Now it looked a lot like I was getting dinner. How anticlimactic is that?

Folding my arms across the table I rested my head on it, letting the day slowly catch up to me. Harry seemed to keep popping up on me, but it always seemed to be like shadows, so fleeting and temporary. It felt like I had a million open wounds, each one unhealed and unattended, left to bleed my life away, draining me of feeling. I don't know how much more I could take. My only hope is that once that son of a bitch who dared murder Harry is a bullet ridden corpse in a ditch I'll be able to put all this behind me and continue on with what life I have left.

"You're his other half, aren't you?" one of the boys remarked quietly.

I lifted my head and made a face, "What are you talking about?"

"The magic man's."

Twin Two rolled his eyes. "The one who came here a few days ago, Mr. Dresden."

"My other…"

"The two of you are half-brothers, right?" Twin One insisted.

"Half…?" then it clicked, "Oh, you misunderstand. Half-brothers mean we have a different father."

Twin Two shook his head. "Yet you each have half of your mother's blood."

Twin One nodded. "If each of you share one half of something, then together you make a whole. Do you see?"

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. No rebuke to dissuade the ridiculous theory. Well…perhaps not so ridiculous because somewhere deep inside me the little boy's words resounded within me, leaving a feather light touch somewhere in the depths of my soul.

There must have been some form of shock registered on my face because Twin Two impatiently pushed his brother aside before addressing me.

"I apologize if my brother's words have distressed you in any way. He has a talent for that. His name is Hyun pronounced Han(s). Mine is Yaio pronounced Yo."

"No, it-it's fine."

Hyun turned to me with hope shining in his young eyes. "Please, have you talked with Mr. Dresden? Did he say anything about--"

"Shut up Hyun!" Yaio admonished sharply.

"No please go on," I persisted urgently, "This is why I came here. My brother left me word that this place would put me on the right track for this case."

Hyun stood face to face with his brother and placed his delicate childlike fingers upon Yaio's shoulder in a way much more characteristic of an adult.

"I trust him Yaio."

Yaio sighed wearily. "You always do," he moved away toward the kitchen door, looking back only briefly, "I'll get father, it'll be easier to explain."

I once again summoned Bob to my side as Hyun busied himself with connecting a second table to the one I was already sitting at, receiving some assistance from Mouse. He too disappeared into the kitchen and soon came back with a plate of food, followed by the rest of his family each carrying another two dishes of steaming heaps of homemade goodness. Mrs. Seung was a very small woman, but only in height for she was niether plump nor willowy. It was almost like she was meant to be long and elegant, but hadn't quite grown into it yet. Her face was inviting and lips very slightly upturned to make her expressions look at ease and comforting. It was a good contrast to her husband whose body structure, although lean, had definitive shoulders which gave him a V-lined sort of body shape. Although a man some time past his prime and now moreover a family man, all of his muscles were still intact. The only evidence of aging was that his face had softened with proud years of fatherhood. They both were somewhat paler than their children and their hair was a truer shade of black, while their children sported more of a very, very dark brown.

Mr. Seung sat at the head of the table on my right, Mrs. Seung sitting in front of me with both her sons to her right, and Bob to my left. I was allowed to first partake in the wonderful foods as a guest, along with the two children, all three of us watched by the two older adults who seemed to chide me about my meal choices as much as their children. I soon found myself with both parents making sure to spoon an extra amount of vegetables and rice onto my plate and fussing about the meager little portions I thought was prudent to take. It went without announcement that we did not speak about business while we ate. There was a sort of quiet tension about the table as dinner progressed, which I knew was not just due to strangers at the table, but something else within the family as well.

It was fantastic and the green beans were in fact very good. They had a nice texture and went well with the tofu pieces that went with it. There was a small variety of cuisine typical of a lot of different Asian influences. Lots of little Korean side dishes, a bowl of pho next to every plate, and stir fry dishes that were well proportioned with the meat and veggies.

Once we had eaten mainly to our fill and mainly just picking a little on the last few scraps on our plates Mr. Seung set aside his chopsticks in an archaic manly way of saying it was time to speak of great important things.

"So, it is my understanding that you are taking over the case from Mr. Dresden," he started cautiously.

"Yes, my brother has passed me the case since he is no longer able to do so." I was still a little uncomfortable with saying any more.

"He is dead then."

I flinched inwardly before nodding. "That is why I have come. My brother was, from what I gather, hard pressed for time and was not able to leave me much to go off of."

He stroked along his chin and jaw in thought. "I see, then there is much to tell. My sons who you see before you, Mr. Raith, are not the only ones I have fathered. I have a third son, Lee."

"They are triplets," Mrs. Seung added, looking older and careworn.

"He is the youngest," Yaio informed me.

"Yes, he went out on his own, but when we heard no word from him a little after two weeks, Mr. Dresden was put on the case."

"Wait, he was _put_ on the case?" I asked, "As in, he was here on council business?"

Mr. Seung nodded gravely. "We are one of the few ancient families still remaining, Mr. Raith."

Bob immediately began to explain to me without prompting. "The ancient families are gifted with many of the old forms of magic, passed down from generations of unbroken blood lines. There are very few that remain. It can only be directly passed from parent to child. Different families possess different gifts. I suspect," he looked directly at Mr. Seung, "you were, as your sons now are, one of the Earth's chosen children. The connection between nature and the mortal man."

"I don't understand," I say a little testily. It seems like I've been having to say that an awful lot.

"Thomas you have heard of this before. Archive is one, the very moment she was born her mother's gift was passed to her. She is the record's keeper. Within her is all that has ever been known. The history of the Earth in one living person. There is also one who minds the lesser creatures, animals and the trees. I imagine there is somewhere a father time type of figure too," Bob rationalized.

"His name is Dennis," Hyun piped up happily, "He lives in New Zealand."

I tried my best to sift through that information. "Okay, so there's this whole legion of kids who have godly abilities who more or less represent the _Earth _and can actively affect the people who inhabit it?"

"Yup," Hyun replied proudly, "Last year we all went to Disneyland together."

Yaio rolled his eyes. "Paul-Jean thought it would be funny to allow the stars to move during the firework show."

"The stars can move?" I asked confusedly.

"Yes, the stars are actually a kind of people," Bob gave me a pained expression, "I can't really--"

I held up a hand. "Then don't. What can your family do Mr. Seung?"

"We have been blessed with healing. It passes every third born child. I was the third born of my family and my father before me and his mother before him. When we had triplets the power was evenly distributed between the three of them, but it is Lee, once he reaches the age of nine, who will ascend and attain the full power of the three unto himself alone."

"Why nine?"

"It is three times his third year of life," Bob answered.

"Of course, magic makes any infinitesimal amount of logic make sense," I muttered darkly, "So what happens to Hyun and Yaio once Lee ascends?"

Mr. Seung eyes shifted nervously from the two of his boys. "I'm not sure. Usually the other children who do not inherit manifest strong magical abilities. One of the Senior Council Members, Ancient Mai, she is a relative of mine. She was only a second born, but the blood of our family is strong. Often times the ancient family lines do not apply to Salic law."

"If it was deemed necessary to split the healing abilities among the three at birth, what purpose would there be to join them now?" I asked a little testily. This was all giving me a big headache.

"There can only ever be a single master, Thomas," Bob replied, "There can be no contradiction of power."

"It is the dividing of power that makes a democracy, otherwise there is only a monarch or tyrant," I pointed out.

"I think that's why Lee left," Mrs. Seung murmured quietly, "He was a good boy and content to share his rightful inheritance with his brothers. He was probably trying to find a way to change it. I fear he's fallen into the wrong hands."

"If Harry's died going after him then that's probably true," I confirmed distractedly.

Things weren't adding up the way I had hoped. From what I can deduce, Harry actually went to Maeve after being assigned this mission, which meant that he had good authority to believe Maeve had either struck a deal with the suspect or was somehow tied to the case. So far I had four potential suspects. Someone who is targeting me, someone who killed Harry, someone in with Maeve, and someone who kidnapped Lee. Now I had thought that all four of the people would be the same person, but it didn't seem like the person who killed Harry would want to target me at all. I had nothing to do with this ancient family council business, why would I be on the agenda? But then, this afternoon's shootout fiasco is proof enough someone is out to get me, although not by magical means as my brother's stolen pentacle had suggested in the beginning. Dammit! I hate this crap. I DON'T UNDERSTAND.

The family exited, leaving me to brood. I explained what little I could piece together to Bob as Hyun and Yaio cleared the tables. To my credit, Bob was honestly stumped as well. I excused him to his skull and continued to direct my thoughts into a constructive manner.

"You can't actually make plants die if you continue to glare at them like that," Yaio commented.

I grunted grumpily, rubbing a little at the bandage covering my wound from this afternoon. By this time it was itching and variably uncomfortable.

"I can take care of that," he offered softly, eyeing the way my fingers lingered over the damaged area.

I removed my hand in silent allowance. Yaio, even through my shirt, located where the bullet had first pierced my skin and lightly pushed his thumb on the epicenter of the wound. The pain subsided with the ease of a wave washing away the sand. All discomfort became a long distant memory and the headache I had been harboring for the past few hours disappeared along with it.

"Wow, color me impressed. Instant miracle. You wouldn't happen to be advertised in the Yellow Pages would you? I'm sure you would have a steady flow of customers." I watched his face closely for his reaction.

"It doesn't work like that," he snapped. "I can't just go to every hospital and stop everyone from dying. If someone's supposed to be saved they'll find their way to me."

"Fate's a tricky thing. There are a lot of people who don't deserve to die."

"It's not my job to determine people's fate. I may only play a part in it." With that he retreated back into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Hyun.

"He seems fairly bitter for someone who has the ability to save people's lives in an instant," I remarked casually.

Hyun came to sit beside me, occupying his father's vacated seat.

"It's hard for him, as it is for us all," he fiddled a little with a stain in the tablecloth. "Each of us can heal a different part of a person. Yaio heals the body; I, the heart or soul or spirit, whatever you may call it; Lee, the mind, which connects the two together since you interpret your own sense of being. In order for us to heal someone we must be able to see the source of a person's hurts. Lee sees how people think, their motives and influences. He can understand a person more than they can ever know about themselves. Yaio sees people in terms of what will eventually kill them. Liver disease, heart failure, diabetes, cancer… Can you imagine being surrounded by death? To not just know a person's smile or their laugh, but how they'll die someday?"

I shuddered. I hadn't developed such an intimate relationship with death until I actually started killing people. For this little eight year old to be expected to live with this…the world's a really harsh place sometimes. And these kids are supposed to be the Earth's chosen children? Winning the lottery would have been cooler.

"How do you see people?" I asked cautiously.

The boy smiled mirthlessly and when he met my eyes I felt a deepest core of my being tremble and grow cold.

"I see people damaged and scarred, struggling through life, sometimes not truly alive at all," he placed the flat of his palm over my heart, "I can see it in you too. You carry your pains like a constant burden on your soul."

"Isn't that how it's supposed to work?"

"Pain is to be faced on your own time and never on its terms," he winked, "and not when I'm around."

Unlike the relief that Yaio had given me, Hyun seemed to fill me with what felt like a gallon of hot cocoa, an hour of giggles, and going on my favorite rollercoaster all in one intimate sensation, like he'd gone and turned all the lights in my heart into spotlights all shining bright on me. I let out the breath I had been holding and suddenly felt lighter.

I remembered why I didn't like Chinese restaurants. Harry took me to one about eight months ago. It was a little corner shop and packed well over its maximum capacity. Harry ordered some kind of pork dish, while I went ahead and picked the third thing of the menu, since I was more occupied with the pretty asian waitress who brought us drinks. We were about halfway through our meal when I had Ching (or Tang, whatever) sitting on my lap and asking me how big my egg roll was when, in a moment of euphoria, I had raucously asked what exactly I had been devouring for the past ten minutes. Ching was quick to assure me that it was the best kind of dog available in all of Chicago. I promptly was sick all over her red silk dress, all to the great amusement of my good for nothing brother, who sat back laughing at me until his face turned purple. We had been thrown out of the restaurant…for life.

"_What the hell are you still laughing about?! You have nothing to celebrate. I thought this was your favorite restaurant."_

"_It is, but it is well worth the sacrifice to finally see you lose your lady. And let me tell you, that was the most spectacular fall from grace I have ever had the pleasure to experience."_

"_I hate you."_

"_Shut up, I'm basking."_

It was a happy memory of Harry. After finding him dead, it had been a lot harder to remember them, out of reach and far away. Now they were a little closer.

I was just about to form a worthy enough thank you when the loud bang of a sniper shot being fired pierced through the suburban night. It just narrowly missed me and I could almost feel the air stir about my face. Without thinking, I grabbed Hyun and released another shield about the same size as the now shattered window. The shield proved to be too hastily done as it shattered under the next two shots. I used my fierce protectiveness for the boy pressed against my chest as motivation for a second shield, which burst to life in its now familiar silver energy. I just managed to pull out my gun when another shot ricocheted off my shield, the area of impact lighting up with a strobe-like flash. One bead left, telekinetic burst ring out of juice, and too dark to see my assailant. God hates me.

Another shot pinged against my shields, which flickered and died just as my very last of thirty beads disintegrated, leaving me utterly bare. It didn't leave without its services, however as I emptied out my clip into the general direction where the last shot had originated. I was rewarded when I heard the distinct sound of multiple bullets tearing through flesh and the guttural cry of the shooter as he died.

My triumph didn't last as I heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy caliber rifle being loaded. Bad guy was following the buddy system. No chance for cover and zip chance of surviving a direct hit. We were going to die.

In the .2365 seconds it took for the second shooter to pull the trigger I was hit by a hundred different emotions at once. Anger, fear, hysteria, regret, sorrow, shame, panic, and the desperate urge to scream like a girl overtook me.

Then, several amazing things happened at once.

First, I did indeed scream like a nine year old girl.

Second, my telekinetic burst ring gave off its customary sting, indicating it was set off.

Third, another shield erupted from my beadless bracelet to meet the oncoming bullet.

And finally, the letters WTF stamped themselves onto my forehead as the section of roof the shooter had been previously standing on exploded with the enormous force of a powerful psychic blow.

Magic rocks.

**-O-**

**A/N: Yeah…this chapter a little sloppily done. I kind of just wanted it done and posted for you guys. Ohs wells, I'm pretty satisfied with what I've got. I mean, originally this story had no plot apart from Harry dying and Thomas mourning him. **

**Please review. Awesome sauce.**

_**Reviewer Responses:**_

**Thomas' Sword:**** You know, it really pleased me as to how damn fast you reviewed after I updated. It was really rewarding as a writer to get that fast of a response and really gratifying to know that people like the personal little tweaks I put on the Book/TV-verses. Good metaphor spotting. gold star**

**Cap'n Tami Sparrow****: Okay, I didn't really understand what you meant by "I see these stories all the time…". Didja mean the whole, Harry dying thing? I dunno. I LOVE THOMAS AS WELL!! I also think he didn't get as much justice as to character detail once he actually started living with Harry. Before that you actually had a good feel for Thomas' character and you would think with Harry around him all the time you'd get a fuller picture, but instead Thomas withdrew which suited Butcher's purposes but us poor Thomas fans were left unsatisfied.**

**Innogen:**** Of course Bob is cheery! For Bob cases and information is the only kind of way he can actually carry out an existence, so he takes great pleasure in anything he does.**

**Silver Cateyes:**** Thank you, I try very hard to stay true to Butcher's original writings and I was really trying to distance myself from the normal Dresden Files stuff/crap out there. I really strived to tell my own story within the world of Dresden and I am happy that people have taken a good liking to it.**

**Chianna:**** Yeah, I think I e-mailed you in the hope you wouldn't abandon my stories. Hopefully, you've stuck around to stay for this update. . Anyway, yeah Harry's a little too stubborn to go out with anything less than a bang. He's got a role yet to play. Yeah, the fandom actually doesn't get too much of the Book-ies since Butcher doesn't condone fanfiction, but I know we're still lurking, looking for an apt enough story to read. I have taken the great pains in trying to write that story. At least the good reception of my stories makes up for amount. -**

**A Person:**** I'm glad I'm someone's hero. Helps me not think I'm as clumsy as I really am. No, I haven't stopped. Just perfecting a few things. I am really loathe to sacrifice my plot for just the story, so I hope you've been patient enough to get this update. THOMAS ROCKS!**

**velja****: The Best, me? Wow, that is really high praise. Yeah, Thomas is way too cool of a character to just sit back and do nothing in the world of fanfiction, so I took the liberty to get him off his stunning arse and force him to entertain us. Harry's definitely not dead…I just misplaced him somewhere. Well, here's my update…although still not much about Thomas' revenge. I must remedy that next chapter. Thank you for the lovely and praising review. It made me happy! - **


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